PART II The First World War
VII EVE OF THE WAR: 1914
Early in the spring of 1914 we went to Livadia. Full days of school work were continued here. M. Pierre Gilliard and our Russian tutor, M. Peter Vasilievich Petrov, accompanied us as usual. Sometimes our tutors were invited to lunch with us and afterwards joined us in our hikes when the sun was bright and warm, or in some other recreational pastime. Our hikes took us through the park or along the shore to Yalta or to the Church of Alexander Nevsky on the opposite hill. Dinner was the focal point of the day with friends and relatives as guests. We children, especially, enjoyed Prince Igor Constantinovich and the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. Aunt Ella, Mother’s older sister, the widow of the Grand Duke Serge, brother of Alexander III, was another cherished guest. She and Mother had similar religious views, having inherited this mysticism from their mother, Princess Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, daughter of Queen Victoria of England.
Grandmother Alice, I was told, was a student of religious history and movements, having been inspired by her tutor, a theologian who was a close friend of the Hesse family. He also had a direct influence on Mother. This theologian imbedded into her thoughts the terrible fear of sin. For years we children watched her struggle, trying to leave this deeply-buried mysticism and return to reality. However, due to the thoughtless criticism by my other grandmother, Father’s mother, Marie Feodorovna, and also the unsympathetic attitude of the Russian court, she sought comfort in this mysticism and her whole soul once more overflowed with it. Then with the misfortune of her son’s illness, she reverted to it all the more. At the same time she pretended not to notice the criticism and tried to hide her pride; but her sensitive heart suffered and the words which she should have spoken hardened in her soul. Courtiers took her for a heartless, cold and eccentric woman. She, having been raised by her austere grandmother, tried to carry on in an efficient English manner. Even though her humble faith grew stronger, her English upbringing never left her and she never became a true Russian in manners, but in her heart and soul she was a better Russian than most native-born Russians.
We boarded our yacht, the “Standard”, which had been brought to the Crimean waters from the Baltic Sea via the North Sea. We went on several short cruises on the Black Sea. Once we crossed to Constantsa on the Rumanian coast to return a visit of King Carol and Queen Elizabeth (Carmen Sylva) of Rumania. They had come to see us with their grandnephew, the future King Carol II. It was an overnight trip to Constantsa. Carmen Sylva at her late age was still beautiful, as also was Princess Marie (Missy), wife of Prince Ferdinand; later they became sovereigns of Rumania. During this visit Princess Marie and my sister Olga developed a close friendship. The strained relationship between Mother and Missy’s sister Victoria, who was divorced from Mother’s brother Ernest, was improved; all was forgotten now. We had luncheon in a pavilion which seemed to rise right out of the sea. From this vantage point we could see many yachts and smaller boats cruising back and forth for a closer look at the “Standard”.
In the afternoon, tea was served on board the “Standard” for the members of the two families. After tea a great many dignitaries joined us on board ship.
[Illustration:
1906]
[Illustration:
1913--JUBILEE YEAR]
THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA
[Illustration: COMMUNICATION. DATED JUNE 14TH, 1901 (OLD STYLE), FROM THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES ANNOUNCING THE BIRTH ON JUNE 5TH (OLD STYLE) OF THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA] [Illustration: CONTINUATION OF COMMUNICATION ANNOUNCING THE BIRTH OF ANASTASIA, SIGNED BY NICHOLAS II AND COUNTERSIGNED BY COUNT LAMSDORF, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_
_ca._ 1896
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_
PETERHOF--1901
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA, THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI NICHOLAEVICH, AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II ON A TENDER APPROACHING THE “STANDARD”--_ca._ 1908 ]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_
THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI, THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA, AND THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS II--_ca._ 1908]
[Illustration: THE RUSSIAN IMPERIAL FAMILY ON VISIT TO BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY--ENGLAND--1909
SEATED ON THE GROUND (l. to r.): THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA. SEATED ON CHAIRS (l. to r.): MARY, PRINCESS OF WALES (LATER QUEEN MARY); NICHOLAS II; KING EDWARD VII; THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA; GEORGE, PRINCE OF WALES (LATER KING GEORGE V); AND THE GRAND DUCHESS MARIE NICHOLAEVNA. STANDING (l. to r.): PRINCE EDWARD DAVID (LATER PRINCE OF WALES AND KING EDWARD VIII, NOW THE DUKE OF WINDSOR); QUEEN ALEXANDRA; PRINCESS MARY, NOW THE PRINCESS ROYAL, DOWAGER COUNTESS OF HAREWOOD; PRINCESS VICTORIA; THE GRAND DUCHESS OLGA NICHOLAEVNA; AND THE GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA NICHOLAEVNA.]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER MIKHAILOVICH AND THE GRAND DUCHESS XENIA ALEXANDROVNA AND THEIR CHILDREN (l. to r.): THE PRINCE NIKITA, THE PRINCESS IRINA, AND THE PRINCES ANDREI, DIMITRI, VASILI, FEODOR, AND ROSTISLAV--_ca._ 1909]
[Illustration: Царское Село.
ZARSKOJE SELO.
_Courtesy E. L. Packer_
ALEXANDER PALACE, TSARSKOE SELO--_ca._ 1912]
[Illustration: Ливадія. Дворецъ. Крымъ.
_Courtesy E. L. Packer_
THE NEW PALACE, LIVADIA--_ca._ 1912]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy E. L. Packer_
NICHOLAS II--_ca._ 1914]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy E. L. Packer_
THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA--_ca._ 1910]
[Illustration: THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI--_ca._ 1913]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P. B. Corporation_
THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI TESTING FOOD OF RUSSIAN TROOPS--1911]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy E. L. Packer_
NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA--_ca._ 1914]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA--TSARSKOE SELO--1914]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND OLGA--_ca._ 1913]
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA WITH HER DAUGHTERS, THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, TATIANA, ANASTASIA AND MARIE--_ca._ 1913]
[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND THEIR CHILDREN, THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE, TATIANA, OLGA AND ANASTASIA AND THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI--_ca._ 1913]
[Illustration: NICHOLAS II AND THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND THEIR CHILDREN (l. to r.) THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA, MARIE AND ANASTASIA, THE TSESAREVICH ALEXEI AND THE GRAND DUCHESS TATIANA--_ca._ 1913]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_
THE GRAND DUCHESSES OLGA AND TATIANA--_ca._ 1914]
[Illustration:
_Courtesy The P.B. Corporation_
THE GRAND DUCHESSES MARIE AND ANASTASIA--_ca._ 1914]
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUCHESSES ANASTASIA, OLGA, TATIANA AND MARIE ON BOARD THE “STANDARD”--1914] [Illustration:
_Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski_
NICHOLAS II]
[Illustration:
_Photograph by the late Colonel N. Koishevski_
(l. to r.) THE GRAND DUCHESS ANASTASIA, THE EMPRESS ALEXANDRA AND PRESIDENT POINCARÉ
STATE VISIT OF FRENCH PRESIDENT RAYMOND POINCARÉ TO RUSSIA--1914]
That night a grand banquet was held in the beautifully decorated pavilion overlooking the sea. The lights reflected on the water as various craft sailed by, and the sound of music spread over the sea like a cloud. It was a gala occasion with many garlands and flags flying. I could not help watching Olga intently for I had overheard someone say that this trip was planned with a view to her possible marriage into the Rumanian royal family. At the dinner table Olga and Prince Carol sat side by side, apparently having a good time. The table was decorated with tricolors: red, white and blue, and small gifts were exchanged. Olga received a Rumanian national costume which was beautifully embroidered; the skirt was in a dark color woven in a pattern of gold and silver thread, and the blouse daintily embroidered in white. Princess Marie did not hesitate to admit that she herself was a beauty, especially her blue eyes. She was the eldest daughter of Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, and the Grand Duchess Marie Alexandrovna of Russia. She was named Marie Alexandra Victoria, after both her grandmothers, the Russian Empress Marie Alexandrovna and Queen Victoria of England. As already mentioned, her younger sister Victoria Melita (Ducky) was the divorced wife of Mother’s brother Ernest of Hesse; she was now married to the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich. Another sister, Alexandra (Sandra), married Prince Ernest of Hohenlohe-Langenburg. A third sister was Beatrice (Baby B.), wife of the Infante Alfonso of Spain, first cousin of Alfonso XIII.
I was filled with a compelling interest I had never before experienced. But when we sailed away that night, I learned it had been decided Olga was too young to marry. Later she told us that she would rather stay single than marry outside of Russia. We sisters were so happy we could not help teasing her about losing a husband. It was a good thing that Alexei did not know about Olga; he would have been sick with worry that she might leave Russia. Later I wished Olga had married at that time, she might be alive today.
During the war Prince Carol came to Russia several times and stayed with us for a few days. Once he was accompanied by Prime Minister Bratianu. However, even this time, Olga was not given an opportunity of being left with him alone for one single minute, entirely apart from others. There were always ladies in waiting and we the younger ones excitedly were in and out of the room. She had no chance to hold his hand and less of being kissed.
Nor was any one else given an opportunity to be with Olga unchaperoned. It was in Tobolsk that Mother first realized her mistake in not giving more independence to her older daughters.
Olga was named after my Aunt Olga. She was tall, slender, blonde with a lovely fresh complexion. Her eyes were a lustrous blue, her nose was slightly turned up. She often jokingly referred to it as “the little stub”. When she smiled she displayed beautiful white teeth. As I look back, I am more and more appreciative of her fine character. She was an omnivorous reader and wrote some stories which she sent to Aunt Missy, Queen Marie of Rumania, who in turn sent Olga stories she had written. Olga’s poetry was destroyed by herself at the time of the revolution. She had a deep religious faith and often sat beside a patient at the hospital praying that God might spare the life of the young soldiers. Her touch on the piano was excellent and was able to master the most difficult compositions of Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Mozart, and Beethoven. Mother and Olga often played duets on the piano. Her talent for composing and writing was inherited from her Danish and Romanov sides which boasted a long line of artists, poets, sculptors and musicians. She was a mezzo soprano; she memorized musical compositions very easily. Mr. Konrad was her musical instructor, as well as ours. Father’s favorite was Tchaikovsky’s “Chanson Sans Paroles”. When she played it for him, his face lighted up with pleasure. She loved Father tenderly. Often, when Father was troubled, he talked over his problems with Olga and permitted no other member of the family to be present. She loved children and sponsored several who were confined to the hospital. She even provided for their education by setting aside money from her allowance.
Going back to our Rumanian cruise, we arrived in Odessa at night, where the Imperial train was ready to take us to Kishinev for the unveiling of the monument to Alexander I. I remember the trip especially because Alexei misbehaved. No doubt this was due to fatigue brought on by the heat on the train. In Kishinev we were the guests of the Governor, an old friend, who wore the longest beard I have ever seen, reaching almost to his waist.
At the tea which followed, champagne was served. At an opportune moment, Alexei took a glass of champagne and drank it down before anyone could stop him. Soon this champagne took effect and he became very gay so that all the ladies, old and young surrounded him. I never realized he possessed such a sense of humor. Youngster that he was, he did not realize what the champagne had done to him. Of course the family was terrified at this display. In the evening back on the train when the effect had worn off, Father gave him a scolding and he was put to bed.
We children now realized that Alexei’s illness and the Jubilee had brought our studies to a virtual halt. Alexei and I used to have our French lessons together, but now he was far ahead of me. French was much easier for him than for me. I was really bored with all my studies. When I entered the classroom, my face grew long, but when school hours were over, I shot out of the detested place like a bullet. As a result my tutors were not fond of me and I felt their disapproval.
We had been home a short while when the world was shocked at the news of the assassination of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria and his wife on the streets of Sarajevo, on June 28th, 1914. After that date Father spent very little time with us. He was constantly busy with his ministers, diplomats and the Grand Dukes. The President of France, M. Poincaré, spent four or five days with us at Alexandria Cottage in Peterhof. He was as complaisant as President Fallières whom he had recently replaced. Father felt drawn to him from the start, admiring his diplomacy and friendly manner. Several dinners were given in his honor with the Imperial family attending. Everyone looked grave and alarmed, and I gathered matters must be serious. Why should the assassination of an Austrian be so threatening to Russia? I was told that Russia had an agreement which might implicate us all unless the affair could be settled amicably. The hour the President departed, the Austrian ultimatum was served at once on Russia and on Serbia.
Out of this puzzling dilemma which hung over Russia, two things were clear to me: the quiet paleness of Father and Mother’s tearful entreaties imploring that Russia be kept out of war. Mother kept repeating, “The country is not recovered from one war before it is in another.” She was thinking of the Japanese war, whose horrors were still fresh in her mind. Mother’s agonized face vividly foreshadowed the tragedy ahead.
Every summer there was a review of regimental maneuvers at Krasnoe Selo (near Tsarskoe Selo). This time they were held in honor of King Frederick Augustus III of Saxony. We sisters enjoyed horses and each had a favorite horse of her own. Tatiana especially knew a great deal about them, since she had been taught riding by a competent riding master, but so did we all. The two older sisters were unusually graceful on horseback, more so than Marie and I.
Cossack horses were especially fascinating to me, since they seemed to understand one’s very thoughts. Tatiana described to me how the Cossack and his horse grow up together. Training begins when the young Cossack is given a horse, a progeny of a Cossack horse, trained to the requirements of the Cossack regiment. From then on boy and horse are one, inseparable, each learning to understand the other: the boy is the head and the horse is the body. When the responses are mutual, they are ready to enter actively the Cossack regiment. I often wished I were a boy so that I might be a Cossack with a noble horse and wear a stunning uniform.
We drove speedily past the cheering crowds. To see these maneuvers was most interesting and exciting as we watched from the Imperial pavilion. In one performance a large unit trotted in perfect formation, then suddenly all the riders jumped off their horses in unison, then jumped back on their saddles without a single horse breaking its gait or changing its speed. In another exercise each horseman threw his black cape around his own shoulders and over his horse, so skilfully that the cape covered both horse and rider. There were many stunts and jumps over wide trenches filled with water; no one fell into them. During the luncheon, which was served under tents following the exercise, a message came stating that Austria-Hungary had declared war on Serbia (August 1st, 1914). At once we left for home.
I remember previous years when I was taken to see the review of the troops annually in May. All the society of St. Petersburg felt it was a privilege to pay hundreds of rubles for a box seat at these maneuvers. The proceeds from the sale of tickets went to charities. I still carry in my mind that upon our approach a signal was given and cheers spread along the quays.
Our carriages were drawn each by two pairs of pure white horses. Father always rode to the left side of Mother’s and Grandmother’s equipage, accompanied by the staff. We sisters followed swiftly in our carriage between the lines of troops until we reached the Imperial box under a green tent. Father reviewed his troops. First to march were the men of his own Preobrazhensky regiment, then the Hussars, the Pavlovsky regiment, the Lancers, the cuirassiers and the others.
Father did not think that the Emperor Francis Joseph would wage war on Serbia on account of the killing of the Archduke and his wife. Father thought so because of the remark the old Emperor had made, in the presence of Father and persons about him, that the Archduke was good for nothing, that not a bone in his body was worth saving, and that he was not fit to carry the Crown.
During the latter part of the war several captured, high-ranking Austrian officers told the Court Chamberlain, General Tatishchev, that the old Emperor was directly responsible for the Sarajevo incident and that the Archduke was purposely sent there, where he was hated and murdered by oppressed Bosnians of the Dual Monarchy. The officers thought it was a deliberate excuse to provoke war and the aim was to destroy the little Kingdom of Serbia and take it under control as had happened earlier with Bosnia and Herzegovina. They knew that this little country would not be able to resist the two powers, Austria-Hungary and Germany. But those millions of suppressed plucky Serbs had already endured deprivation of freedom and arrests and confiscation of their property under the Dual Monarchy. They were determined to defend what was left of their country from being dismembered again, and all were willing to die for the right to live in their own land.
Father sent a telegram to Kaiser Wilhelm asking that the Austro-Hungarian-Serbian dispute be tried by the International Arbitration Court at The Hague. He also sent word to King Carol of Rumania to wire the Kaiser that Russia did not want war. But all was in vain. They took the killing of this good-for-nothing Archduke as a deliberate excuse, even though the murder was committed by their own citizens who resented the Dual Monarchy. It was common knowledge that Russian mobilization which was under way was directed against Austria, not Germany.
VIII NO CHOICE BUT WAR
Events moved rapidly. Austria and Germany declared war on Serbia. More than ever Father was shut away from us, doing all in his power to keep Russia out of the conflict. But Russia was an ally of Serbia. There was no choice. German and Austrian troops were already mobilized and were conducting maneuvers near our border, and soon we, too, were in war. Mother wept copiously. “Why,” she asked, “should millions of Russians lose their lives because one man is killed? Wilhelm has brought this on. I never trusted him. I never forgave him the humiliation and indignities toward our Granny (Queen Victoria).” My thoughts flew back to the visit in Germany when the Kaiser was my friend. Only two years ago we had exchanged jokes. Now he was Russia’s enemy, Mother’s enemy, and mine. Wilhelm, Mother’s own cousin.
Before we knew it the Austrian troops were threatening the old Russian fortification of Bendery. I was filled with forebodings. Being a believer in dreams, I tried to interpret a dream I had had the night before this news arrived. I dreamed that the forest on the Russian western border was ablaze. I could hear the crackling of the timber and could see fierce fire raging high into the sky.
A few years later, during my escape, I crossed these same forests and remembered my dream. Then the trees were not on fire but lay with their huge roots pulled out of the ground--witnesses of the terrific suffering and tragedy that had occurred there.
At Tsarskoe Selo that evening, after the news of the German advance, we prayed to the Almighty, hoping that disaster could still be averted and peace could be maintained. We realized how much Father was suffering when he appeared late for dinner. His face was pale, his bearing indicated anguish. He said, “Russia has no choice but war, when the armies of Germany and Austria are already on Russian soil.” Mother burst into tears, and so did we all. Supper was not finished that night. We left the table. That same evening, Foreign Minister Sazonov and the British Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, spent half of the night conferring with Father. The next day Father was at his desk at five in the morning, working until breakfast. Alexei, who was ill, did not know about the war until the next morning.
In the afternoon we all went to St. Petersburg, except Alexei. As we were entering the Winter Palace, people gathered in the square and surrounded us as they cheered. After an old Russian tradition they kissed Father’s shoulders and Mother’s skirt. This display of loyalty brought tears to Mother’s eyes. Father went directly to a meeting at the huge Nicholas Concert Hall with the ministers and generals. Then the Te Deum was sung. When Father appeared on the balcony of the Winter Palace to read the Manifesto declaring war, all of us children and other relatives stood behind him. At once the voices died down and all was quiet as though the whole world had suddenly fallen asleep. The thousands of people who had assembled in the square knelt down, their garments making a rustling sound, and in unison sang “God Save the Tsar.” At this time Father took an oath that he would never make peace so long as one enemy remained on Russian soil. Then he promised his people that he would defend all the Slavs, even if he would have to shed his own blood. It was a painful moment to announce to the people that war was an actuality.
We returned to Alexandria and several days later we all left for Moscow. We were greeted with the same enthusiasm there. The church bells rang continually as we passed from the station to the Kremlin. People were everywhere, on roof tops, balconies and trees. The Russian national anthem was heard repeatedly along the way. Alexei was ill, and had to be carried to the Cathedral of the Assumption to hear the Te Deum. The patriotic demonstrations lasted three days. “Ura” (hurrah) resounded everywhere. From Moscow we went near by to Sergievo to pray at the celebrated Troitsko-Sergievskaya Lavra. Practically every living person in the area lined the streets to the monastery, the richest and most important monastery in Russia. It covered a large territory and was surrounded by a lofty, thick wall with many towers. It contained some dozen of churches and many historical treasures, some dating from ancient days. Many pages of Russian history had been devoted to this monastery, about the heroic defense by the monks in 1608 against the Poles. Here were the tombs of Tsar Boris Godunov and his family. Here Father received an icon to carry with him through the battles. This icon was sent to the field chapel at General Headquarters and remained there to the last.
With war an actuality, all Russia seemed to unite in a determination to win a quick victory. Whenever Father travelled, the people greeted him enthusiastically; sometimes the whole family went with him and heard him deliver his war messages. During these trips the air was full of unity and the family never felt closer to the people. Many letters were received from students who begged to be allowed to go to war. “A beautiful patriotism,” Father said. “But how little they understand what war is.”
During the first days of the war, all factions drew together in a great patriotic surge. We saw some of our own relatives return to Russia to take part in the war. We sisters hardly knew some of these relations. All helped in the war effort; even our frail Grandmother did her bit in hospital work. Later she spent a great deal of time in Kiev, with her younger daughter Olga, our aunt, who worked in her own hospital there as a Sister of Mercy. Being so near the front, she received the most critical cases.
Life in the palace quickened. For days on end Mother could not think of anything but the hospitals. Were they adequate for the most certain strain ahead? She was not ignorant of the heavy task. In her younger days, before her marriage, she had taken up medicine for a while, knowing that the dreaded haemophilia might be in her genes. She wanted to be prepared to take personal care of any children she might have in the event they should inherit it. Later on, through the long illness of Alexei and during the war, her previous knowledge of this affliction helped enormously in her work. Mother also had a medical library on the second floor in Tsarskoe Selo, where in addition to texts, all kinds of anatomical diagrams and other materials could be found. Even before the war she was an excellent organizer of hospitals and charitable institutions, being particularly interested in orphanages. In addition to her medical training, Mother had studied philosophy in one of the German universities. In fact I recall the very drawer in the desk in a room on the balcony where she kept her documents and other papers of this nature. Most of all, I was always sure, Mother was determined to meet with courage any problems she had to face. So now, a nurses’ course was arranged for Mother, Olga and Tatiana, so that they might serve the wounded more effectively.
Alexei no longer played at soldiering. He was now in serious military training. In Father’s study there was always a chair for Alexei, where he sat on certain days listening to various reports brought by the Ministers. He was not allowed to make any comments at these conferences, although, after the Ministers left, he could ask questions about anything that puzzled him.
“If Alexei could take part in things, why not I?” Mother said, “During a war there are first duties. Yours is to continue your education in order to be useful later on.” How disappointing. Yet the war-electrified patriotism compelled me to dig in at my school work and to pursue my formal education. Stirring sounds of bands and marching feet often disturbed my good intentions. I learned the meaning of discipline and self-sacrifice from the men under arms.
My newly awakened conscientiousness would not let me waste a minute. Besides working on my lessons, I joined a group of young women in hemming children’s dresses for various charities. Later under Marie’s supervision we worked in the palace workroom on garments and often we called officers of Father’s own regiment on duty in the palace to turn the wheels of the sewing machines and sort the garments.
We had learned sewing at an early age because Mother had always stressed its importance in any woman’s life. She, herself, was expert at sewing and during the early years of her marriage made some of the layettes for us infants. Many of her embroideries sold at benefits and some handmade blouses in silk or linen, beautifully tucked and embroidered, went as gifts to our relatives in England and in Germany.
Grandmother, too, was clever at hand work. She could repair her own exquisite handkerchiefs so perfectly one would never know they had been mended. Grandmother could knit well, too; during the war she made fine woolen gloves for the soldiers and sent some to Father. Marie and I concentrated on socks, gloves, and caps, and received our war news while we were knitting in the evening. War and our mutual problems became the greatest teachers of responsibility. When I became the honorary chief of a regiment, the 148th Caspian Infantry, the monthly reports I received of my regiment brought to me news of the losses in dead and wounded. These reports were frightening and I ran to Olga to find what could be done to ease the situation. She said; “Hundreds of wounded are coming every day and it is horrible the way they suffer.” I heard that the German losses were even greater.
Once again I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up. Soon after this, Mother allowed Marie and me to visit our own hospital more often. As we entered the building they were carrying a wounded man with bloody bandages. He was taken directly to the operating room; a moment later they carried him right out again. The doctors had found he was already dead when he was brought to the operating room. I had a dizzy spell. I was ill. No, I never could be a doctor. The sight of that poor boy could never be erased from my mind. For weeks I could smell blood. Red became a haunting color with its reminder of the horror of that picture. Even red medicine made me ill all over again.
Day after day Olga and Tatiana worked beside Mother at the hospital. They got up at seven, attended lectures, and then again resumed their hospital work. In the evening, they read while knitting. I could not understand how they endured it all. It was comforting, however, to learn that Olga, like me, could not bear to see suffering. Tatiana was like Mother in her ability to see beyond the suffering to the relief she was able to give. Doctors were scarce, and Mother assisted in many operations. Each day before going to the hospital she stopped at the Znamensky Sobor, the little church she had restored, to pray that her hands might be blessed with the power to do things right. She felt so obligated to each wounded soldier, she wanted to nurse him with her own hands to relieve his suffering. At the sight of each new patient she prayed anew for the war to end. She spent all day at the hospital and came home exhausted and would lie on her sofa for a short rest.
With tragedy on all sides Father ordered strict economy. Every possible kopeck must be saved to benefit the soldiers. Mother reduced our staff of servants. Our meals became simpler. Father insisted that the Court, without exception, must observe all the restrictions. These economies were not too difficult for us children, since we had not been brought up to expect extravagant luxuries. Mother had always preached to us against wastefulness, and against idleness. These ideals were now more necessary. We accepted whatever we received with appreciation. We had very few dresses. I wore the ones handed down from my sisters. Being much smaller than they, the fit was not perfect and required alterations. A few tucks here and there made me happy in them. When we did get a new dress we were so careful with it that we could hardly bear to sit down. Each of us had definite duties to perform.
Olga and Tatiana continued their studies and carried on with their hospital work and also made out schedules for us younger sisters for the next day. In addition they checked supplies for the hospitals, attended meetings for charitable organizations, and supervised the raising of money through concerts and plays. Many of the leading artists donated their services and large sums were raised for the expanding hospitals and other charities. Our friend Madame Plevitskaya proved most helpful by generously donating her time and her talent to the war effort. Mother eagerly awaited reports showing the financial account of these benefits.
Marie and I selected gramophone records to be sent to the convalescent wards, also books which the soldiers might like to read. We ordered fruit, candies, cakes, games, stationery, soap and pencils. Box after box was taken to the hospitals. Sometimes we played dominoes with the men, or watched those who could play croquet, or wrote letters to their families.
Our playrooms were now deserted. Alexei’s electric automobile had been stored under the slide. His special duties kept him occupied, as did his class work. When he did go for a ride, with a friend or with one of his cousins, he made it appear as if they were engaged in an important war project.
With the beginning of war most gaiety ceased. Benefits became the social functions; anyone not helping was out of fashion. Everyone worked together to make each benefit a successful affair. To raise money, photographs of the Imperial family were sold. There were name days set aside when one member of the family was played up throughout Russia; the newspapers helped in the competition. It was exciting to see whose photographs sold best. Tatiana proved a great favorite with the people.
Many relatives and friends turned their homes into hospitals, often paying the expenses themselves. In addition, they devoted all their time to the wounded. Some had as many as seventy patients in their residences. Olga designed an attractive calendar, each page gave the historical event of that day. It became a favorite and was ordered by the thousand. Aunt Olga, Father’s sister, made drawings and paintings which brought large sums to charities. Moreover there were outright gifts in large amounts. A banker named Yaroshinsky donated over a quarter of a million rubles. Yaroshinsky was assistant manager of Mother’s own hospital train. He reappears later in my memories of Tobolsk and Ekaterinburg.
In 1915, before Father took over the Supreme Command of the Russian Armies in the Field, there were occasional officers’ balls. Father and Mother attended these affairs but stayed only long enough to show their interest in them, always having in mind that it might be their last gaiety. Marie and I were too young to attend any of these functions at this time, but Olga and Tatiana went. When they were dressed to leave they came to show themselves to Marie and me that we might have a little touch of festivity. Their joy in being gowned in evening clothes instead of the customary nurse’s uniform made them radiantly happy.
Their eyes sparkled and their cheeks were flushed, making them look more beautiful, so that I was sure each might meet her Prince. Mother always wanted her daughters to be poised and act natural in the company of men. It was all so romantic, I could hardly wait until I, too, could go to such affairs. My sisters looked every bit the princesses they were, soft and graceful in manner, stately and tall, and we younger sisters had to be told about these parties over and over again in every detail.
Aunt Olga, Father’s sister, from the kindness of her heart realized, while the young men were at the front, the young ladies at home were more than ever appreciative of a little gaiety. She, too, planned several parties at her home in Petrograd (the new name for St. Petersburg). These usually came on Sunday when we met a great many young people. At other times, we were asked to see stage plays at Countess Sheremetieva’s. The Countess was a close friend of our Aunt Olga. We had a wonderful time at these parties.
Aunt Olga was very close to us girls, more like a sister than an aunt, only thirteen years older than my sister Olga. She understood the art of living; she was full of life and gaiety; her visits brought joy to our lives. When she left, it seemed all the fun went with her. She loved sports; besides tennis she liked skating and skiing; she played a good game of billiards, often with her mother; also croquet and many other games. She was an excellent painter. Her religious art was appreciated by many churches. She was a woman of deep faith and loved her religion. Mother and Aunt Olga often talked about religion. The latter had a good voice and played several instruments. An excellent linguist she spoke at that time Russian, English, French and had some command of both Danish and German.
Her love for peasants was great. She disliked formality, and was happy to by-pass the rules of etiquette, which were forced upon the royal families. She considered them old-fashioned. She loved to dress like a peasant. Because of her liberal views she became a target of cheap gossip. Her husband, Prince Peter of Oldenburg, was chronically ill. Uncle Peter was tremendously rich, but all his wealth could not give her the child she so longed for. For this marriage my Grandmother was responsible. Finally and after fifteen years of marriage the Grand Duchess obtained an annulment, against my Father’s wishes, and married Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky, a tall handsome officer, who was her former husband’s aide-de-camp and the head of her hospital in Kiev. For this she was criticized by gossiping women, but Aunt Olga felt it was her own affair and not that of the women who did nothing good in their lifetime but interfered with the lives of others. Prince Peter indeed was nice but companionship alone was not enough to make their marriage completely successful. This condition caused a strained family relationship, and she was eventually to be exiled. But while we were in Tobolsk even Father wrote to her.
While Grandmother was in Petrograd, even for a short visit, she utilized her time folding bandages with her companions. Olga and Tatiana after their meetings in the Winter Palace often drove to the Anichkov Palace to take tea with Granny. They brought us news of her. When she was not well, Mother sent us children to see her. We took along some delicacies as a present. For some reason I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious in Grandmother’s presence. I could not help but admire her; she carried herself in such a stately manner in her pretty clothes, mostly black.
During the early part of the war, Mother took us to Moscow to see our Aunt Ella (Elizabeth), whose husband, the Grand Duke Serge, was murdered by a bomb. I did not remember Aunt Ella in any other way than in a nun’s costume with its finely draped habit covering her hair entirely. Her features were beautiful and symmetrical. Many highly titled men would have given anything if she would but consider a second marriage; some even made suggestions to Mother who, knowing her sister, realized it was useless.
I learned a great deal of history from her. She told us that when she first came to Russia as the bride of Serge Alexandrovich, she studied the Greek Orthodox religion with the court priest for several years before she felt sufficiently versed in it to join the Church. The night before Uncle Serge’s name day, she said to him, “I have a gift for your name day.” “A piece of jewelry?” “No, my dear, something more precious to you.” At breakfast next morning she said, “My gift to you today is my embracing the Greek Orthodox religion.” Uncle Serge replied: “This is the happiest day of my life since our marriage.”
In 1914 when Aunt Ella was with us in the Crimea, she told us sisters that during the Japanese war Uncle Serge offered to take command of the army, confident that he would win and prevent a civil war. But Count Witte, the Prime Minister, opposed it. A controversy ensued and the two men became enemies. After the signing of the peace treaty, which was encouraged by the President of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, Uncle Serge and Count Witte fought over it.
Soon after this someone threw a bomb at Uncle Serge as he was leaving the Kremlin in a sleigh. Aunt Ella heard the explosion and she knew it was intended for her husband. This occurred just outside the gate. She and her lady in waiting ran out to find only the remnants of his body which the two gathered with their bare hands for burial. They also gathered the pieces of his torn uniform which Aunt Ella enclosed in a holder in the shape of a cross and later kept in her convent cell. It was after his death that Aunt Ella went into the convent of Martha and Mary. From then on she wore a habit of her order in soft pale gray, which was artistically draped around her head. She thought Count Witte was behind the man who killed her husband. Yet she forgave them. She even sent food, cigarettes, and clothing to the prisoners who had murdered her husband and frequently went to visit them in prison in spite of Father’s objections.
Many sufferings and much unrest took place while Count Witte was Prime Minister (1905-6). Madame Narishkina often spoke to us children about the opening of the Duma in 1906. She said that at the time Mother, Grandmother and many others cried when during a reception people marched to the Tauride Palace singing the revolutionary song. She said, “Witte gave all the power to the Duma, and because of the character of this power the Duma was dissolved in 1906.” But it left the most damaging results, and these effects germinated and were ripe at the opening of the Fourth Duma in 1912. Witte was still living at that time. Even during the war the Duma so jeopardized the life of the nation that finally it collapsed.
The news from the front was for a time encouraging; there was talk of a short war. People seemed to work harder than ever. At this time Father was often summoned to the telephone which he did not want to have on his desk in his study. Even while Father was on his daily short walks, frequently an officer on a velocipede was dispatched to fetch him on an urgent matter.
IX FAMILY HEARTACHES
The news from the front was bad. There were serious reverses. Father was staggered. The people and the army were dissatisfied with Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich, who was in command of the Russian armies at the front. A change had become imperative.
My father now decided to take over the Supreme Command of the Russian Armies in the Field. He realized that a tragic hour was at hand. The Army already had begun to show disunity, under the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich who continually complained about Father, not only to Grandmother and our Aunts but also to the officers of the high command. Father thought that this older giant who was at least 6′ 4′′, would be better off in the warmer climate of the Persian front as he suffered from rheumatism. But the Grand Duke claimed that Father was jealous of his position.
Father’s decision meant going to General Headquarters and entrusting the government to others in his absence, hoping for the wholehearted support of the Duma. It also meant separation from the family. Mother believed completely that this was the correct decision, but never from that moment on was she free from constant worry.
Before his departure Mother drove with Father to the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul, then to Our Lady of Kazan to pray for guidance in his undertaking and to dedicate all, even life itself, to the task. Then they crossed the Troitsky bridge over the Neva, which was built as a memorial to the silver wedding anniversary of Alexander III and Marie Feodorovna.
At this time Mother believed she saw the sign of a cross in the sky. This saddened her, for she became worried that Father by taking command would encounter personal danger. She dreaded lest he become the victim of some fanatic assassin, as was his grandfather, Alexander II.
We realized this risk when we went to the Alexander Station to see Father entrain for Mogilev. The waiting room was filled with guards and secret police. No one was admitted except by special permit. Even ministers and relatives could not enter except by invitation. When the big, blue, Imperial train, with its double eagle crest, pulled out of the station, we saw Father standing at the wide window of his sitting room.
It was a comfort to know that each hundred feet of track was guarded by a soldier against accidents or bombs. No one knew in which car Father rode. All the church bells rang until the train was no longer in sight. The Nicholas railway on which they travelled provided a direct line to General Headquarters. Several days before the trip, roads were searched and guards were posted. As a further precaution, railroad tracks crossing the Nicholas line were removed until Father’s train passed. Once he said, “I have known from my early years that I will fall a victim for my country.” Nevertheless, Father disliked all the fuss.
With Father speeding away from us, we knew he would carry on efficiently and with determination. Of course he would miss his family, but we were going to send him letters daily and an occasional package containing needed articles. We often sent him fruit and books and occasionally flowers received from Livadia. I can still hear Mother say, as she examined the flowers while placing them in the box, “When one sees these heavenly blossoms, how can one be reconciled to this terrible war?” Whatever went into each package was lovingly and tenderly packed; and Father knew it. Mother often packed everything with her own hands and made a list of what she included. A jaeger (messenger), an aide-de-camp, or a relative waited until it was ready. Mother sometimes handed the package to him personally and he departed to the undisclosed destination where Father was. There was always a letter in the package, describing our activities, sometimes only a note from Mother, containing a language just the two of them could understand, words that made her love sing in Father’s heart.
In going to General Headquarters, Father discarded all conventionality. He went behind the lines to fight with his men in arms. He took it as a matter of faith that it was his duty to sacrifice everything in order to save Russia. He promised to do so the day he took the Crown. He said, “I shall not allow my people to be insulted and to be trampled upon by the enemy.”
His cheerful disposition gave great inspiration and happiness to the Army whom he loved more than his family; here he found happiness among his men in arms.
We heard of victories. Surely the war would soon end especially since reports from the front showed that prisoners were captured by tens of thousands at a time. “A supreme success,” Father wrote home. No wonder a few months later the Kaiser wanted to sign a peace.
Spring, 1916. Father sent word it would be impossible for him to be with us at Easter. This was his first absence from home at this important holiday, which in the Greek Orthodox religion is celebrated more fervently than Christmas. Instead he sent Mother a gift from G.H.Q., a most beautiful Easter egg, which he himself had designed. It was indeed a rare gift, made by Fabergé himself because his many workers were at the front and some of them had been killed. M. Fabergé delivered it in person, and, in our presence, Mother opened the beautifully wrapped package and exclaimed, “It is exquisite. How can human hands make such a beautiful work of art?” Then, when she opened the egg itself, five dainty miniatures of us children unfolded in a row. Father had remembered Mother’s expressed wish to own a miniature of us children. M. Fabergé beamed with pleasure, as did Mother and we children. That Easter the service was held by Father Vassiliev at the Feodorovsky Sobor and we all took Communion.
Easter afternoon was the customary time to distribute gifts to the hospital patients. These consisted of china eggs and real eggs and some sweets. We “tied” hundreds of the special china eggs. They had been decorated with the gold-crested double eagle with Mother’s initials on one side and the Red Cross emblem on the other. Usually they had the hole lengthwise from one end to the other so that a ribbon could be pulled through to be suspended below an icon under which there was a burning lamp (lampadka). Also, special Easter eggs were made by Fabergé, and Father distributed them to the Allied Mission as well as to deserving men. Mother, too, sent some of these to Petrograd to the English Hospital for Lady Sybil Grey so that she might give them to her patients. Mother also sent a beautifully hand-painted one to Lady Sybil herself in appreciation for her excellent work at the hospital, also to Lady Buchanan. Our household maids received gold enamel bijou trinkets; many girls wore a necklace of them for six weeks preceding Ascension Day.
This particular Easter afternoon, a little family argument ensued between Mother and Olga, who wanted to wear a pretty dress for this occasion. Mother insisted that Olga and Tatiana wear their nurse’s uniforms as usual. There were pleadings, opinions, and disagreements, but Mother stood her ground. We all went to the hospital to which we were assigned and we sisters agreed among ourselves that Mother was wrong and unfair to deny a change for the two young girls, who would have found pleasure in appearing before the patients in a different dress. In the evening, Alexei came running into our bedroom. He was excited and upset. He informed us that “Olga was crying.” He ran to his tutor’s room and returned. We rushed into her bedroom and tried to comfort her, assuring her that we felt Mother had been unjust. Olga soon forgot the whole thing and Mother never knew of our indignation.
Mother worried about Father’s loneliness, in the midst of responsibilities and without the comforts of home and family. However, Mother was quite surprised when Father wrote that he had no time to be lonely, and that, on his next trip home, he would take Alexei with him to G.H.Q. M. Gilliard, his Swiss tutor, and others would accompany Alexei, so that his studies need not be neglected. Dina Derevenko and Nagorny would watch over him. Dr. Fedorov was already at G.H.Q. as Father’s physician and also as lecturer to the Headquarters hospital staff.
The more Mother thought on this subject the more reasonable it seemed to her. Alexei would learn military science first hand. He would get acquainted with officers and men, and learn about war in general and foreign representatives in particular. Above all, he would be the best possible company for his Father. So Alexei left home--in tears. It was the first time he had been separated from Mother. While Alexei was away, Mother would slip into his room every day and pray on her knees beside his empty bed. His absence was a heartrending experience for her. We tried hard to comfort and console her by showing how much we, too, missed the little fellow.
So Alexei joined his Papa, but now Mother’s worries began to increase. She telephoned almost every day, asking about Father’s and Alexei’s health. She wondered whether Alexei was getting the proper food, having enough sleep. Was he careful, or was Father too busy to pay attention to Alexei? In spite of these worries she was proud to hear that they were together, sharing the same room.
While Mother worried, Alexei was proud of his association with Father. We discovered it when we arrived in Mogilev. With great pride Alexei showed us his bed beside Father’s, then added, “We say our prayers together, too. But sometimes, when I am tired and forget, Papa says them for both of us.” He could not wait to show us photographs of himself standing beside Father reviewing troops and partaking of the soldiers’ rations. Father was proud to show Russia what a real Tsarevich she had in Alexei and the tender relationship between Father and son and the country. This made Mother proud enough to endure the heartache of the little boy’s absence from home. Alexei remained at General Headquarters.
Mother talked constantly about her “boys” at the hospitals. They were all her boys. On her trips to nursing centers to visit the wounded, Olga and Tatiana accompanied her when she made her rounds. When the sickrooms were on the second floor, she had to be carried upstairs in a wheel chair. She was their symbol of courage, representing home and loved ones, and they died in peace. When the day was done she was exhausted, but it seemed to mean so much to the men that the Empress herself cared so deeply for their welfare. She could never face death philosophically. She considered each death as that of her own son, each death a fresh cause to despair at the futility of war and the greed of Wilhelm.
She was a very good Christian and followed the religious teaching, but towards the Kaiser she disregarded all the teachings of Christianity and her hatred for him was beyond description.
Mother, seeing all the young on the verge of death, suffered vicariously with them, and spent many sleepless nights pacing the floor. Often in the darkness of the night, she ordered her chauffeur to drive her to the cemetery. From grave to grave this tall shadow went and said a prayer in this quiet place for the young men. She knew them all and grieved over the loss of the lives they gave to their country. She often sent us sisters to plant flowers on the graves of these men; they were all her children.
I cannot describe more deeply nor find words that could give a better understanding and do justice to this much misunderstood woman. She insisted upon being present at the most gruesome operations. Carefully she handed the instruments to the surgeon, while one of my sisters stood by with the freshly threaded needles ready for use. Mother, looking upon these heartrending scenes, tried to give her very inner self to these sons and husbands and brothers of Russia. So did the nurses who worked heroically in our hospitals or public institutions, practically all of them volunteers. Mother never postponed taking care of important matters. She checked the reports on supplies for the hospitals to see if they were sufficient.
Mother had at first considered the question of the duration of Alexei’s stay at G.H.Q. Now she planned a hospital inspection tour in the area, so that she would be able to bring him home. But Father and General Hanbury-Williams asked Mother to let the little boy stay at G.H.Q. We left for home without Alexei.
When Father was absent for any reason, General Alexeiev was in complete command. All military matters were discussed between them; they worked together congenially. A number of times Father took Alexei with him to inspect the troops of Generals Ivanov and Brussilov and to decorate all those involved in heroic action with crosses. The soldiers were quite impressed with Alexei. In the uniform of a private, he stood proudly beside Father during military reviews. By the erectness of his posture and the tenseness of his expression, it was obvious he felt deeply responsible. They returned to G.H.Q. from the front, which was within the range of German guns. Fortunately the Kaiser did not know this. Father insisted that his food come from the field kitchen--the same that the soldiers had.
My sisters continued working; when they were tired they rested on little stools at a bedside reading, praying for the sick, or writing letters if the patients were unable to do so. Olga was deliberate in her decisions and very exact in all her work. She was responsible and successful in raising a great deal of money by her carefully planned programs of entertainment, which were always carried out successfully. Tatiana who was physically stronger was prone to take the lead in their hospital work. We heard from doctors that she was unusually gifted in this type of work, took everything calmly and systematically and with a clear head. Mother always counted on her to carry out the most pressing work with accuracy, and she never failed.
Mother also used to sit with the sick men for hours and when the officers were returning to the front, Mother was introduced to each as he passed her and gave him a prayer book. Standing next to Mother, Madame Narishkina gave each one a package containing a set of underwear, made out of silk in the “Marie-Anastasia Workshop.” It was to protect them from body lice, mainly at the front.
Alexei, when home, visited the wounded often at our hospital. He enjoyed listening to the men of war speak of their experiences at the front, never tired of hearing stories. Often he told them jokes to make them laugh. He felt indignant when the time came to leave, when the merriment might only have begun.
As to our trips no one knew the date of our departure or return. Count Fredericks, Minister of the Court, made all the arrangements. In the fall we left for an inspection of different military hospitals, stopping on our way in Mogilev. We made our headquarters on the train which stood on the track in a deep forest, some distance from the station. A few days later, Father and Alexei returned home with us. The many dangerous trips to the front, the sight of the wounded in the hospitals, and the feeling of responsibility made a deep impression on Alexei, causing him to be nervous.
While at home, Father had a long talk with Olga, and asked her to see that Mother kept all those hated people out of our house. But Mother, thinking they were helping her, continued to have them. Olga disliked Rasputin, never wanting his name brought up in her presence. When our company mentioned his name she changed the conversation. Once I heard her say to Mother, “Why do you listen to some of these women? Their minds and upbringing are so different from yours. Why do they come to you with all kinds of gossip? In their position, they should not be permitted to interfere with things that do not concern them.”
Mother answered, “But, my dear, every ruler must have contact with the people outside. That is the only way to get at the truth. Granny (Queen Victoria) had confidential informers, and consequently knew everything that was going on.”
Olga replied, “That is all right, Mother, but these people were not constantly in Granny’s company. Especially we like to have a visit with Father when he is home for a short period. You must keep your public and private lives separate.”
These unworthy, capricious people irritated Olga when they became involved in matters about which they knew nothing. Their careless words later ignited a devastating flame. Marie often was reprimanded because of friction with one of them who was a constant friend of Mother’s.
Soon Father and Alexei left for an inspection at the front; they went as far as Chernovitsy, Bukovina, where I spent some time after my escape. Could Father ever have dreamed that a child of his would ask shelter near this battered city? He was also in Warsaw, and described the battle in that area to us. He brought back many pictures, showing, as I recall, on one side of a road thousands of crosses on the graves of Russian soldiers and on the other side the enemy’s graves. We prayed God that our men would be able to defend our country.
My parents visited the Red Cross units and ambulance trains for the evacuation of the wounded village people and went to the field hospitals to say a few encouraging words to the wounded. Mother and we sisters carried envelopes containing writing paper, handkerchiefs, sweets, fruit and other articles for distribution. Father depended on us sisters for these supplies. Ambulance trains were named after us children and the train was met by that person whose name it bore. Often these trains arrived simply packed with the wounded who in some cases were even lying on the floors which were covered with straw and blankets. Frequently infections set in, when flesh was torn and bones were shattered. German bullets usually made a jagged hole, tearing the flesh. Russian bullets made a clean cut. Infections were especially prevalent during springtime when the snow had melted and the trenches were filled with polluted water which made it impossible for the men to lie down. It was difficult to move the wounded along roads cut up by the heavy artillery. Instead muddy fields had to be used for their transportation to the nearest hospital or the train; often the mobile hospital got stuck in the field and the rescue work had to be done in the dark. It was heartbreaking.
Every possible space was used. Even the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoe Selo had to be utilized. Mother also had built many new hospitals with Father’s and her own money; she appointed Madame Zizi Narishkina as the head of the hospitals. Mother also established refugee homes for the unfortunates whose farms were plundered and laid waste by artillery. For the evacuated village people, shelters and orphanages, hospitals and convalescent homes were constructed. She had built about ninety military hospitals from Petrograd down into the Ukraine.
Many men released from the hospital were unable to return to the front. Some of them were sent to farms and trades. Others learned to paint and their pictures were bought and sold at different bazaars; some were taught to weave rugs; others did wood carving; still others took up sculpture, photography, printing or bookkeeping. All this was made possible through the organized efforts of my family.
Grandmother and other members of the Imperial family did the same. She even built camps in Germany to house Russian prisoners of war there. But a Red Cross doctor and a nurse returned from Germany with a report of the terrible conditions, the mistreatment of prisoners, and the lack of heat and sanitation. They said that many wounded were infected with sores and no nurses were permitted to help them. Officers were insulted and beaten, because they refused to give the Germans information as to the situation at the front. One of the Kaiser’s sons was present and saw all these conditions and indignities. Over the Russian prisoners the Germans put Russian Jews, who had run away to avoid serving in the army. The mistreatment of the prisoners was unbelievable.
Through the Red Cross, Mother sent supplies to these camps in Germany including Bibles, books, bandages and other necessities. She also helped to organize camps near the railroad stations in Siberia for German and Austrian prisoners of war; many such prisoners were sent to work on farms. These camps were well regulated as she was eager to demonstrate that Russia could lead in the humane treatment of prisoners. For this she was deeply criticized on the ground that she was saving the lives of our enemy. Maybe later the same men were the killers of her own family.
Often my sisters came with a story of some unusual occurrences. One young patient coming out of anesthesia sang and moved his arms as if conducting an orchestra. When he was told later what he had done and that Mother was present, he apologized, fearing he might have used some vulgar words. Another said that he had received a letter from his girl friend. He kept on repeating all the sweet words only a bride-to-be can write to her fiancé.
We looked forward to the evening when we could snuggle around Mother in her room. Usually there was a letter from Father. These arrived by special messenger and were delivered to Mother by Mother’s ladies in waiting or maids. Mother read parts to us and afterwards seemed more contented. She preferred to open her own personal mail. Mother eyed her other letters with suspicion, turning them over. When she read a line or two, her face grew dark, her eyes flashed anger; she tore them to bits and threw them in the wastebasket. With all the misery in the world, many found time to criticize her and were too cowardly to sign their name. God forgive them for the unpleasant hours they caused Mother, not to mention the injury to our war effort. She said the Germans used the same method of propaganda as did the Japanese in 1905.
Father never allowed us girls to discuss these unpleasant matters. Once when Father was absent, I mimicked one of the suspected trouble-makers. I was promptly reprimanded, then everyone burst out in laughter. My technique worked. The next morning Mother’s eyes were red and swollen. She said she had read late and her eyes hurt. It was obvious to us that she had cried herself to sleep. We four sisters got off a letter to Father begging him to come home for a day or two. Father and Alexei arrived. Now Mother was a new person. She gave all her heart and soul to Father, and Alexei’s entertaining chatter lifted her spirits. Her eyes were no longer red and swollen; instead they glistened. Evenings found the whole family gathered together in Mother’s boudoir. If one had looked in, he would have been impressed by the harmony in that room.
Mother expressed her wish to have a little house, away from everybody, where she could have peace and quiet. We wished so, too. Mother’s and Father’s love for each other would have made a home out of any humble dwelling.
All too soon Father had to leave. Alexei was so diverting, we wished we could keep him home, but the little fellow was too proud of his association with Father even to listen to such a suggestion. Good-byes were hard on Mother, and we often wondered whether we had been wise in asking Father to come from G.H.Q. After he left, Mother prayed daily for his safe return; she was proud of his service to the country.
Almost on the very day of Father’s departure, the anonymous letters began to come in greater numbers. Mother almost dreaded reading the numerous letters because of their venomous content. One of the letters was signed by Princess Vasilchikova. She accused Mother of many things and claimed to be speaking for the women of Petrograd. She suggested that Mother leave Russia and go back to Germany where she had come from. How little she knew that Mother came from the little province of Hesse and had no connection with Prussia. I wondered what this woman thought the Empress’ children would do? Obviously this and other letters were inspired by those who wanted to overthrow the Imperial family and its government in order to gain control of the country, as they eventually did.
Mother even was accused of sitting behind a curtain at the top of the stairway of her maple sitting room which let into Father’s study, listening to all the reports given Father on the progress on the war. These reports she was supposed to transmit to Kaiser Wilhelm. This ridiculous gossip was not only believed by many in Russia but was even circulated in foreign countries. The story was so impossible it hardly needs refuting. To reach the spot, Mother would have had to climb some dozen steps to the top of the balcony room, which she could not have done because of her heart condition. Besides, Mother never was left alone. She always had a personal attendant with her on duty, day and night. In a room next to Mother’s bedchamber, a bell was connected with the maid’s room in which there was a narrow bed and a comfortable armchair; also a small table on which were magazines and books for the maid’s relaxation. The other personnel were dismissed at 11:00 P.M. Most of her help had been with Mother since her marriage; we parted with some, when we left for Tobolsk. Her loyalty to her adopted country was unquestionable and her personal dislike for the Kaiser and his government was almost an obsession with her.
Another rumor, freely circulated, was to the effect that Mother had been visited secretly by the German General Ludendorff. This and many other similar rumors were part of the propaganda to destroy Russia by attacking the heart of the Russian government. Mother was depressed and exhausted as these accusations multiplied. Some of the writers demanded the discharge of all officials with foreign names. This would have meant dismissing people like faithful Trina Schneider whose loyalty was beyond suspicion. In the end she, too, was killed outside of Perm. She had taught both Mother and Aunt Ella the Russian language. Now she served as a reader and a governess to Marie and myself. Some of the people had German names but were Scandinavian; others were descendants of people brought to Russia during the reign of Catherine the Great.
With Father at G.H.Q., there was much he could not follow first hand. Mother felt she must report to him everything that came to her notice. All the praise, criticism, advice, countless suggestions of many individuals were brought to her that she might pass them on to Father. Sometimes these were important messages, sometimes they were petty and trivial in comparison with the momentous questions that confronted the nation. Mother was eager for advice but unfortunately most of the suggestions came from those she had the least reason to trust, persons who were suspected of being the real instigators of the propaganda against her. More and more she felt that most of those who volunteered to advise her were serving their own self-interest.
Reports often brought depressing information: that Father’s orders, his telegrams, were purposely sabotaged, and often were replaced by others. Inefficiency and betrayals were noticeable. Father was frequently imposed upon as a result of his kindness and generosity. Mother said, “He must make his will felt, inspire wholesome fear through firmness and discipline. To inspire love is not enough.” With her own background Mother often wished that Russia had some of the efficiency of the Germans. She thought Russia needed more ingenuity and greater economic independence. She felt the need of more railroads for the transportation of troops and supplies, though one Siberian line had just been completed during the war (in 1915).
Petrograd was full of crosscurrents. One said this, another said that. Mother did not know whom she should believe. In spite of slanders that were heaped on her, she still wanted to find out the truth to pass on to Father. The people were tired, tired of everything, especially of war. Whatever the reason, they were in a careless mood in their attitude toward their country. No one had brought proof to back up their accusations of Anna and Rasputin. These two, in Mother’s opinion, were continually persecuted. Had not Anna given every kopeck of her compensation for injury in a terrible train wreck to establish a hospital for convalescent soldiers so that they might receive training in some trade? The hospital was so successful that before the Revolution hundreds of invalids had been trained and she had purchased the land on which to build an additional building. What greater proof of her loyalty was needed? Could anyone know better than Mother the power of Rasputin’s prayers? Had she not witnessed his miracle on Alexei? Now all she wanted for Father was divine guidance to see things straight and to bring Russia safely through this ordeal. Had not Rasputin used his foreknowledge which made him see what others could not? He had foretold several events which later came true. Once he predicted that our death would follow his death and that in the event of a member of the family surviving, he or she would meet with disaster in 1960.
Another accusation was that Mother was hiding Uncle Ernest in the palace. Uncle Ernie had been in Russia with his family in 1912. It was at the new palace in the Crimea. That was the last time he visited Russia. During the war, the Kaiser made it so disagreeable for Uncle Ernest that, in 1918, he abdicated. He and his father had worked so hard to make their country economically sound. We had a few letters from Aunt Victoria, Mother’s sister in England. Prince Louis of Battenberg, her husband, was the First Sea Lord of the British Admiralty. Pressure was brought against him also during the war hysteria so that he was forced to resign his commission, in spite of his loyalty to his adopted country, Great Britain.
When the war broke out, the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich and his wife were in Germany. They were subjected to considerable mistreatment so that, a year after, he died. Father was furious when he received the report of the abuses from the Grand Duke himself. Grandmother also was passing through Germany at the outbreak of the war, and she, too, was subjected to the same indignities. The death of the Grand Duke Constantine was a great loss, not only to the family, but to all Russia. The Grand Duke was a most brilliant scholar, poet and patron of music and drama. He wrote plays, essays, poems, using a pseudonym. He translated _Hamlet_ into Russian. He wrote a play entitled _King of Judea_. It was a magnificent production, in which he took part. Even when his health was failing, he continued to promote the arts. The last production in which I saw him on the stage was _Hamlet_. He played the leading role of the Danish Prince himself. Some of his children had parts in it. During the last performance my family was present. Alexei sat with Mother in the front row and excitedly called out, “Mother, Mother, do you know that is Uncle Constantine! And that _there_ is an officer of the Guards?” Uncle Constantine sponsored a number of young people in music and drama. He had a theatre of his own and designed his own stage settings.
He was deeply religious and brought up his family in the best Christian tradition. Despite his good life he suffered great misfortune. Shortly before he died, his son-in-law was killed in the war. Earlier, one of his sons, Prince Oleg, had been a battle casualty. While the Germans were retreating Oleg followed them on his horse when a wounded German officer played dead and shot him; he soon died in the hospital. The names of his children were all taken from early history. During the revolution, three more sons were brutally murdered, together with Aunt Ella, near Alapaevsk.
I remember Aunt Mavra, Constantine’s wife, and one of her daughters having tea with us for the last time, shortly before the revolution. Always deeply religious, they crossed themselves for safe driving before they entered their car. Whoever could have known that we would never see one another again? Still Aunt Mavra lived through all the tragedy that befell her innocent family.
Mother seldom came to the dinner table these days. She was served in one of her rooms and we joined her after the meal. At that time Father’s letters were read and reread. Usually there was a clever one from Alexei, too. His note was always so cheering to Mother that we hoped she could retain the mood till bedtime. To break the monotony, I planned on entertaining them, even though it made me feel sad rather than lighthearted, but, once I started, everybody began to laugh and we were soon all in the midst of great merriment.
Watching Mother carefully, when she looked troubled, I sprang a new joke or some lighthearted remark to cheer her up again. In this self-appointed task I had a helper. I found a book of funny stories, which I kept in one of the drawers in the round table in the music room, and in privacy I delved through it. It contained many jokes which I did not understand, but, believing they must be funny, I put my own interpretation upon these and tried them out on the family in the evening.
On Father’s last trip to the capital, his appearance before the Duma was a great success. In his speech he urged unity and warned that only unity would bring victory--the victory he reminded them was so near. Hearing his inspiring message, everyone was optimistic. There was country-wide rejoicing, especially when shortly afterward the news came that Erzerum, which had been stubbornly held by the Turks for so long, had fallen.
Father said that he was willing to grant liberal concessions but he feared that this was not the time for great, radical changes. They would have too damaging an effect during wartime.
Sir John Hanbury-Williams was in Petrograd for several days and saw Olga and Tatiana at this presentation of Father’s at the Tauride Palace (Duma). He afterwards said to Olga: “Knowing your Imperial Father the way I do, I am most sorry for His Majesty; so is all the High Command, for there is not one single word of truth in all the propaganda circulating. He assuredly does not deserve such malicious criticism.” Hanbury-Williams thought that Father’s address was most enthusiastically accepted and would bring good results. However, it created apprehension among the enemy who seemed to be losing hope of winning the war. Nevertheless, it provoked more damaging propaganda. Father repeated that he would not yield to Germany. More than ever, Wilhelm made Father his target. He aimed at him with traitors who spread their lies insidiously underground like the roots of a tree. There were attacks on Father from all directions--a whispering campaign spread to injure his reputation before his people. Of course Mother already had come in for her share of this terrible barrage of falsehood; in her case the slander centered around Anna and Rasputin. But that only made Mother stubborn, and she closed her ears and no longer would believe anyone around her. She had felt for a long time that she was doomed to death from the day she set her foot on Russian soil.
X MOGILEV
The year 1916, the date May 6th. It was Father’s forty-eighth birthday. The day before, we went to G.H.Q. at Mogilev to be with him. As usual we stayed on our train. On this occasion the Russian and all the Allied High Command, as well as some of our relatives, came to extend to Father their congratulations.
Mother, shy and reserved by nature, came with us even though she dreaded meeting the members of the Allied Military Missions, some of whom she had not yet met. We knew many of the officers quite well. I particularly remember our friend General Keller, Generals Ivanov, Lechitsky, Dieterichs, Yanin, Resin, Kornilov, Brussilov, Father’s Chief of Staff, General Alexeiev, General Dubensky, the military historian attached to G.H.Q., and Captain Nilov. I recall, too, the traitor, General Ruzsky, who left such a bad impression in the Baltic.
In the morning we went to the garrison church services nearby, under the thick pine trees. There were many high ranking men and titled guests in attendance.
Mother had ordered flowers from the Crimea to be used as decorations for the occasion. We sisters made two flower arrangements for Father’s study and his bedroom. One of these was placed on the table in his bedroom in front of an icon of Saint Nicholas. On the piano in the big hall were large branches of white orchids artistically arranged.
Dinner was served to about fifty guests. All the members of foreign missions and the Russian generals and their wives who happened to be there attended, as well as a number of the Grand Dukes who came to Mogilev especially for this occasion.
We assembled in the large hall and stood in line with Father to receive the congratulations of the guests. We girls wore white dresses and white hats trimmed with ostrich feathers. Uncle Serge Mikhailovich, who was in command of the Russian artillery, was present. Others were the Grand Duke Cyril and his brother the Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich; they could not disguise their bitter hatred for the family, especially for Mother, when their turn came to take our hands.
At the dinner Mother sat next to Father and at her side was our handsome, lively brother Alexei. Opposite them was Olga, Hanbury-Williams and the others. In the evening we took in a movie. Prince Igor Constantinovich was there and accompanied us next morning on a walk in the forest, where spring flowers were abundant.
From Mogilev we went to Sevastopol, Crimea, making several stops on the way to inspect military hospitals. At the Tsarskaya Pristan (dock) in Sevastopol we were greeted with cheers by sailors from Navy vessels. Everywhere we went, we were met with a great deal of friendliness by the people who came forth with flowers, fruits, and gifts of money for the hospitals. We also made a surprise visit to the Romanov Institute of Physical Therapy. In Evpatoria we met Admiral Kolchak, who later played an important role in fighting the Communists in 1918 in order to capture Ekaterinburg and rescue us. Unfortunately he was betrayed by the Czech troops. We had tea with Anna, who had been sent there by Mother on a special mission some weeks earlier. Father and Alexei went back to Mogilev and we left for Tsarskoe Selo. Anna accompanied us for several stations, and then returned to the Crimea.
About this time the people began to show unrest as a result of a rumor, which an investigation showed had been spread by German agents, to the effect that Mother and Aunt Ella were hiding Uncle Ernest. It upset my Mother so much that she had a heart attack.
When demonstrations began to take place in Moscow, because of this false propaganda, Mother was told that Kerensky, who up to now was biding his time, urged Guchkov to start a revolution, while the situation was still hot. Mother said he should be hanged for it. While Kerensky was plotting against my family, Father was at the front making every effort to bring Kaiser Wilhelm to his knees, despite the offers for the separate treaty which were made by the Kaiser who stressed that an alliance with Germany would be more beneficial to Russia than one with England. But all the proposals were ignored. Father knew the German position in the war was the lack of physical strength, particularly after Father’s Chamberlain, General Tatishchev had interviewed German officer prisoners and was told by them that the Kaiser had lost all his power which now rested in the hands of the High Command.
Mother went to Mogilev again and this time she took Anna with her. It caused a great deal of trouble and more hatred sprang from it. Even our own cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich, spread the most unjust lies: that some drink was given to Father by Anna and that he was under hypnosis. How shameful that this young man in return for love gave disloyalty to the man who had given him kindness and affection as if he were his own father. Another ridiculous rumor was that gold had been shipped over the border to Germany in the coffins in which supposedly were bodies of German soldiers killed in the war.
Mother became resentful toward these rumors and stubborn in her reaction to them. Now she and Father would defend any innocent friend who was brought under false suspicion or accusation. How could anyone believe such falsehoods, especially against my Father, which were found in the end not to be true. Madame Narishkina once said to us that Mother’s friends brought her nothing but misfortune. It is true, but for this misfortune many others also were responsible. Anybody could have believed anything under the prevailing chaotic conditions of rumor and deceit For example, some years before the war, while the family was in the Crimea, every day a bouquet of fresh flowers was sent to Father for his desk in his study, and the card in them bore the signature “Ania.” This naturally aroused great consternation. Upon investigation, it was found that Ania Vyrubova at that very time had been with her family in the small village of Terijoki on the Gulf of Finland and so could not possibly have sent the flowers. Later Princess Sonia Orbeliani, once Mother’s lady in waiting, a bitter enemy of Anna’s, in a fit of anger revenged herself on Anna by saying that Anna had hired a gardener to send the flowers.
Another rumor related that Rasputin came to the palace by way of the back porch and visited the children’s quarters. In the first place, there was no back porch. On one occasion, he did come upstairs to see Alexei in his sickbed, using the private spiral stairway from Mother’s apartments, but subsequently, whenever Rasputin came, Alexei was carried downstairs. Moreover, Rasputin was accompanied by Father Vassiliev and almost always the Emperor was present. Father had traced this rumor to its source, and everyone connected with the story admitted that they had not seen Rasputin enter the palace, but that they were told to say so by a certain person. In fact, I never saw the peasant in any of our private quarters. These were always guarded at the foot of each stairway. We were so surrounded with people that he could not have avoided being detected by many.
This false rumor grew stronger and more outrageous stories were added to it. Those spreading these cruel gossips which injured Mother’s reputation were those who never had an opportunity even to see any member of the Imperial family, people whose feet never had trodden the grounds of Tsarskoe Selo. For every person living in this village was known to the police and any stranger coming into the area was always picked up and investigated. Anyone entering there had to carry his credentials. Those who spread such propaganda lived to regret it, but their remorse came much too late. Tragic as it was, these paid agents schemed to take Father away from the front because they knew his presence was all-important.
Alexander Park was enclosed by an iron fence, which was topped with three rows of barbed wire. Inside and outside were sentries at regular intervals. Every day these grounds were searched to be sure that no one was hiding there. Not a single person could enter the palace without a great deal of red tape. There were four entrances to the palace. The peasant was not allowed to use the main gate. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake as it gave an air of mystery to his rare visits. Accompanied by Father Vassiliev, he entered through the side or garden gate (across from the Znamensky Cathedral) which was accessible to only a few. The procedure here was simpler but any such entry was recorded, as was the case at the main gate. These authentic official entries were available since the time of Peter the Great, but many were destroyed by the invading Communists.
The visitor had to present proper credentials as to whom he was to see and for what purpose. His name was written several times; also the time of his arrival to the very minute. Halfway up the driveway to the palace the door of the car or the carriage was opened and the vehicle checked; also again a note was made of the identity of the visitor. In the meantime, the sentry at the gate had already telephoned the palace guard, announcing the arrival of the person. At the palace entrance, the guard on duty opened a square, barred window, and the visitor was ushered into a room where he presented his card to the officer on duty. The latter checked and compared the name and description of the visitor with names and photographs in a book, copies of which were found on tables in various parts of the palace. Then the visitor was directed to the reception room, where Mother received him. This was the procedure for all.
At each end of the corridor, and at the foot of every stairway, there was always an officer on duty who kept a record to the minute of everyone going up and down the stairs, no matter how many times a day.
Upon departure of a visitor, the same accuracy as to time was maintained, and a record of his stay was handed to the palace police. There were also a number of runners and about thirty-five guards on duty in the corridors and stairways alone; not all were armed. That same strict rule applied to all the palace staff, including the well-known Mistress of the Robes, Madame Narishkina, and the ladies in waiting. In fact when any one of us, even Father, arrived, the carriage was always inspected. We were never left unattended and we did not know what privacy was, being always surrounded by our teachers, ladies in waiting, governesses, nurses and chambermaids who frequently entered our rooms.
Secret police continually checked every activity of everyone. It would have been impossible to enter or leave in secrecy. No doubt there was a file on Rasputin with a complete record of his visits to the minute, showing how long he had been there and whom he had seen; and the names of the officers on duty had to appear in the record, especially after it was rumored that Rasputin was a spy. The secret police were watching him; according to some it was only for his own protection. But, at the same time, his activities were being carefully scrutinized. One slip on his part would have sent him to his death. The palace chief of police kept a copy of such records; another copy was delivered to the chief of police in Petrograd. In fact, during our arrest, these records were checked on Rasputin and on every member of our family to the very morning of our departure from the palace. The Ministers were responsible for many troubles, because they gathered around Rasputin and that gave him more confidence.
As for Mother’s supposed pro-German leanings, how often I wished Kaiser Wilhelm could have been in our household to hear the uncomplimentary remarks attached to his name. Alexei and I used to stuff pillows and take shots with toy guns at Uncle Wilhelm. The name Wilhelm aroused such invectives we were ordered not to use the word.
Olga Constantinovna, wife of King George I of Greece, sister of the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich, spoke to Mother about the peasant. She had become very upset about the gossip and because of it and the hot summer of 1916, she had suffered a heart attack. Later Father’s friend, Prince Volkonsky, came to see Father to warn him about the peasant. At that time, Aunt Ella became so upset by these rumors that she sent Count Sheremetiev, a friend and distant relative of ours, to deliver the message that Rasputin had been using our family name for his personal advantage while under the influence of liquor in Moscow. Mother and Father even now refused to believe the tale. It left Father very distressed. He could not understand how this highly educated man could have allowed anyone to recount such tales to him. This good family raised a great deal of money for hospitals; in their huge villa in Petrograd they sponsored a hospital for officers and paid for the upkeep from their own pockets. Besides, two of their sons were at the front.
Shortly afterwards, Aunt Ella herself appeared at Tsarskoe Selo. First, she talked to Mother alone about the peasant, but Mother said, “Sister, you do not believe all that do you?” Ella said, “I do not, but the people do.” Mother asked, “And who are those people? Please do not speak, as the others do. There is not one word of truth in what your friends are telling you.”
Mother was especially furious and could never forgive her sister when she said that God might punish Mother by taking her son away from her. That was a most painful remark for my Mother. The following morning, Aunt Ella pleaded on her knees before my parents. Even then they refused to believe the story. Instead Father turned to his aide-de-camp saying, “Have a train ready for the Grand Duchess’ departure.” Father at once left for G.H.Q. very upset. When Aunt Ella entered the room where we had bid good-bye to Father, her eyes were wet with tears and she was wiping them with her handkerchief. This was a sorrowful parting for both sisters as well as for the whole family. We kissed her for the last time, never to see her again. When she was leaving the rooms she lifted a hand, saying, “Remember the fate of the other Empresses.” Mother and both older sisters accompanied Aunt Ella to the station. We were told that Aunt Ella knew then that Rasputin would be killed.
Mother often asked why people had not opened their eyes to see something else besides an inclination for harm, which springs from stupidity and ignorance. Why were they not able to judge us, and see the good we had done? Even now she did not see that one could be capable of falsehood. Mother had such a love for Russia that often she said, “I would rather die than see Germany win the war!” She was English in every way. She had spent most of her time with Granny (Queen Victoria), and from her earliest childhood had taken a dislike for her cousin Wilhelm, largely because of his lack of consideration toward their Granny.
During this time, Mother’s mail was more voluminous than ever. One of the letters she received called her attention to the illustrated magazine _Niva_, in which was an article with a photograph of a dog undergoing vivisection. Among the magazines usually to be found on the table in the room next to Mother’s room, I could not find this issue. Because we were not allowed to remove books or magazine from the shelves, Mother immediately requested Mr. Shcheglov, our librarian, to bring this magazine to her. She asked me to find the page showing this needless cruelty. I opened the periodical; it fell open at that page. Strapped to a table, the unfortunate animal was being operated on without anaesthesia. This horrifying picture made an enormous impression on us. Mother without wasting time took steps to prevent such laboratory work being done without the animals being anaesthetized.
At once she became unpopular with many technicians and medical men. We all were always sympathetic towards animals, especially Alexei who frequently took home many homeless animals; he fed them and never feared being harmed by them. This good child repeatedly said, “Some time I shall have a large place for all the animals who have no home. I will feed them and care for them myself.” Many unfortunate animals were made homeless by war. He brought dozens of cats and dogs and sent them to our farms. Proudly he once said, “I am positive there is not a mouse left here.” The farmer agreed with him there was none.
There were always appeals to Mother for help. If a son was missing, she was asked to help trace him. Any injustice which came to her attention she tried to resolve by appealing to the proper authorities. When the burdens became too heavy, Mother rushed to the Church. To her, religion was more than worship, it was life. She loved the rituals, candles, chanting and prayers. Through the unburdening of her heart, through supplication for guidance, she was strengthened and helped to think more clearly, to understand more deeply and accept God’s will with greater humility. But dishonesty, insincerity, friction and perfidious gossip were continually clouding her sense of God’s will. At such a time disunity was high treason to Church and State. She wanted a new regime so that Alexei would not have to struggle with the old autocracy handed down by his Grandfather.
Father had taken an oath in his war manifesto that he would never make peace so long as one enemy soldier remained on Russian soil. The enemy knew that only a revolution could defeat the Russian armies, so they spread a network of lies to poison the Russian mind. Their central theme held that Mother was redoubling her pro-German activities. In the Duma attacks were made on Father in an effort to discredit him. Many friends no longer participated at the meetings of the Duma; they could not stand to hear the slander of their Emperor.
These words are painful for me to put in writing, and I shall not further denounce these slanderers, as it would be against my Christian belief.
Word was brought from General Headquarters that Alexei had caught cold on the train during a trip to the front. He had sneezed and burst a blood vessel in his nose. When Dr. Fedorov was unable to stop the bleeding, also fearing that his cold might get worse, he suggested that Father return Alexei to Tsarskoe Selo. He had almost died on his way home because of the jolting and jarring and it had been necessary to stop the train several times at night in order to change Alexei’s dressings. He collapsed into unconsciousness several times and seemed to be on the verge of death. All night Nagorny had to support his head.
Meanwhile in Tsarskoe Selo, we were receiving wires posting us on his condition. Some arrived late in the evening so that Mother sat up all night, fearing that the end had come. At six in the morning Anna called Rasputin and requested him to pray for Alexei. Rasputin replied that Alexei would be better, not to worry, and that the bleeding would stop. Strange as it may seem, the bleeding did stop shortly thereafter. Later we were told that Anna informed the peasant that Alexei was better. Mother went to the station to meet the train and when Alexei was carried down the platform, he smiled at her. She was thankfully relieved. His bleeding stopped. Mother kissed him and he drew her hand to his lips. Father left again for G.H.Q. and Alexei remained at home recovering from his illness.
In spite of my brother’s poor health, our parents insisted that, as soon as his condition improved and the weather permitted, he must return to Mogilev. It was felt necessary that he prepare himself for his future responsibilities, even though his health had been impaired. Father said that Alexei was not to be shielded behind the scenes as he himself had been during the reign of Alexander III. As soon as the war should be over, Alexei, accompanied by his tutors, was to go to England to receive special training. My little brother became nervous under the strain, and we all felt sorry for him. Once, at two o’clock in the morning, Alexei awakened Olga in her room and said, “I cannot sleep; I am worried.”
The fact that I had been asked to share the responsibility with Olga and Tatiana deeply stirred me. They suggested that Mother should not be left alone in her bedroom at night while Father was away even though a maid was in the room next to Mother’s. We sisters decided to take turns spending the nights with Mother, as well as time after school hours. Alexei was hurt, because he was not asked to share this loving trust. He protested: “Am I not a member of the family? I am tired of taking humiliations from you. You seem to enjoy giving me orders.” I explained that he could do his share by sleeping in Father’s bedroom when he returned to G.H.Q. This satisfied him.
I shadowed Mother, amused her, and did everything in my power to make her happy. I did many things by which I hoped to spare her needless steps. I accepted my responsibility seriously and was a little hurt at Mother’s amused surprise at my obvious attentiveness. It pleased me to have Mother call me her little helper, because I saved her many steps. Often Alexei called Mother on the telephone and, while she was talking to him, I would run up and warn him not to call Mother again. I felt responsible for her and at the same time I was filled with a sense of importance while on duty at her side. For some time we thought Mother’s health was deteriorating under the strain of worry and sorrow. Now her heart became worse and she no longer was able to give actual care to the wounded at the hospital.
While Father was home, he had several stories about Rasputin investigated. One report declared that Rasputin had boasted in a restaurant, in public, that the embroidered upper blouse which he wore that evening had been presented to him by the Empress. Father sent for this man, whom he had disliked for so long. He questioned him about his claim. The peasant appeared to be surprised and frightened, but had finally admitted that he had made the remark. “How dare you?” Father looked straight into his eyes. Then, Father pointed to the door and Rasputin was shown out by an aide-de-camp. Olga remarked later to us sisters that the only regret she had was that the peasant had not been thrown out long before this.
Father never liked nor believed in the Starets and neither did we girls. Even Alexei was doubtful about the peasant’s honesty. In our presence, Rasputin was always respectful and unobtrusive. Mother, however, was convinced that Alexei’s life during his most severe attacks was saved by Rasputin’s prayers. Mother was impressed by the man’s simple common sense. He had such a saintly approach that Mother believed that he was a man sent by God. Most of the messages from Rasputin had come to Mother through Anna. It was at Anna’s house that Mother saw this wandering monk and their conversation was always about religion. There was little doubt that he was a healer of a sort which some Christian Churches have always known and recognized. However, many discounted Rasputin’s healing claims by explaining that he always came into the picture when Alexei was already on the way to recovery. When Alexei was previously ill, because some one inserted into his lower body some kind of serum which caused him untold suffering and many sleepless nights, Rasputin was blamed for it. It was Rasputin who made all the nurses and maids go to confess at the church as a result of which it was found that someone close to the family was responsible for this illness.
The attacks Alexei suffered had become fewer and less serious. My parents were hopeful Alexei would eventually outgrow his trouble. Alexei was often puzzled about Rasputin, whom he considered to be a healer. One day he asked, “Tell me, Mommy, why is it that God listens to the peasant’s prayers, but not to mine.” Mother honestly believed that Rasputin was sent to save her son. Under similar circumstances any mother would have felt the same.
On another occasion we had Father Vassiliev as our guest. Alexei was just getting over a bad cold. He asked why people said that the peasant was a saint. Papa replied that he would rather have Father Vassiliev explain this to Alexei. The clergyman answered that anyone who does good and lives according to the Holy Scriptures could be a saint. “Then what shall I do that God will listen to my prayers?” asked Alexei.
Father Vassiliev of the Feodorovsky Sobor taught Alexei religion. Alexei was deeply attached to his instructor, who was very religious, had a kind heart, loved people, made friends easily and was loyal and defended them when they were in trouble. Alexei was bright, lively, had a quick mind, delicate features, a white, clear complexion and coppery, auburn hair. In secret among the family he was called “Ruchka” (the hand). This he knew, although we did not at first know it.
XI OUR LAST AUTUMN IN TSARSKOE SELO
The fall of 1916 was a beautiful one, with the brilliant flames of orange oak and russet beech trees, elms and avenues of lime trees all fused harmoniously as in a painting. It was our last autumn in Tsarskoe Selo. Again, Alexei joined his Father at G.H.Q. and both went to review the troops at the front. As usual, Father inspected the field kitchens and tasted the food to be sure that it was kept up to the prescribed standards. Then they visited the hospitals in Kiev, at the same time spending several days with Granny who had been living there in the palace near the beautiful Dnieper river for the duration of the war, in order to be near her daughter Olga.
Upon their return to G.H.Q., Alexei sent a note home to say that Father was distressed after having had a talk with Granny; she had changed. Alexei, although a child, was conscious of the fact that this disquieting conversation stemmed from Ruchka’s illness and the peasant. Granny did not know that Alexei knew that in secret he was called “Ruchka”. There were other relatives present at this discussion, one of them being Uncle Sandro (Alexander Mikhailovich). He was the head of military aviation and was stationed in Kiev.
During this conversation, Aunt Olga defended Alicky (Mother) whereas Granny blamed everything on her. Grandmother openly predicted then that all would end in disaster. Alexei promised Mother that he would never cause Father trouble, and would be careful of his own health. He told us later that he had cried on the train while Father was in his study, and that he no longer loved his Granny as he used to. At this time Aunt Olga was happily remarried. Her husband was the handsome officer of the Guard whom she had known for a long time, Colonel Nicholai Koulikovsky.
Soon Mother and we sisters went on another tour to the hospitals and were greeted enthusiastically everywhere. We received big donations for the hospitals. During this tour we stopped for a several days’ visit with Father. This was to be our last trip to G.H.Q. We knew right away that something connected with Rasputin was troubling Father, as a result of his last visit to Kiev.
Now Father asked Granny to leave for the Crimea in order to end the gossip, which without Granny’s encouragement would never have taken place. Later even Olga wrote her asking for God’s sake to leave for the Crimea. But all was in vain.
At this time Uncle Sandro, the husband of Aunt Xenia, proposed to Father that he should promulgate the constitution on his name day, December 6th, but Father said it was impossible because at the coronation he had sworn on the Bible to uphold the autocracy.
Now we already knew of the plan to assassinate Mother, Father and many of his aides, especially Prince Dolgorukov, Captain Nilov, A.D.C. Mordvinov, Count Fredericks and others. It was organized in Kiev by Guchkov. Granny and the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich in Caucasia supported the idea, but Granny confessed to Father, during her last conversation with him, that she did not know that the Guchkov plan was to assassinate Father and the others. She believed that they were working towards Father’s abdicating the throne to the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich.
The former Governor of Mogilev, Mr. Pelts, who let my Father use his residence, and others also warned Father of the plot and told him that many officers were approached by Guchkov to carry out the mass murder but they all refused. The secret police were to close in on Guchkov but Father wanted to have more proof. On this visit Granny wanted us children to come to Kiev, but we feared that the murder might be committed while we were away. After the abdication and before Father left Mogilev, Granny came on her train to Mogilev. Even then she blamed the abdication on Mother. Then Father asked her whether she knew of the plan to assassinate him and Alicky, his wife. She cried that she had not known of the plan to murder but had encouraged the abdication. With these words they parted forever. No matter what, Father was condemned from the day of Lenin’s brother’s execution during the reign of Alexander III, and also from the day of the execution of Trotsky’s brother who was connected with one of the most dangerous revolutionary organizations during the Japanese war.
Father occupied a section of one floor in the Governor’s home in Mogilev. Built on a wooded hill, it enjoyed a magnificent view of the broad Dnieper River. Father had two large rooms, one being the bedroom he shared with Alexei. In it, two iron beds stood side by side, separated by a little table on which was a Bible and an icon. There were also a mahogany dressing table, a wash stand, a settee, and a bookcase. The windows of this room faced the river on one side, the garden and the parade grounds on the other. The adjoining room was Father’s office with windows facing the parade grounds. It held a large Victorian desk fully equipped, some photographs of the family, several barometers and a floor lamp; also Alexei’s desk used for his school work, a settee, and a bookcase. Next to the office was a large anteroom with two big portraits of Father and Mother, plus a couch, a piano, and numerous chairs. Next was a large, gloomy dining room. The entire suite had parquet floors and fine carpets.
Some of the upper and lower floors were occupied by Father’s staff: General Voyeykov, Count Benckendorff, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov, A.D.C. Nilov, Dr. Fedorov and Dr. Derevenko, now in charge of Alexei; Prince Igor Constantinovich often came here. With Father was also General Dubensky, a friend of the Grand Duke Dimitri, Count Sheremetiev, A.D.C. Drenteln, and others. Father was accompanied by his rather numerous military escorts and by his tall bodyguard Dendeniev, a Cossack officer, who almost always was at his side. This officer could fire at the smallest flying object in the air without ever missing one shot. Also present was Father’s personal guard, Polupanov.
In Mogilev, we took some short trips, sometimes driving to the beautiful Archayerevsky woods; or we walked in the deep snow, while Alexei played in the park with young cadets.
At some distance from the Governor’s home under the pine trees was the Army field chapel. The General Staff office was within a short distance of the house. Due to the shortage of houses, all government buildings and some private residences were converted into living quarters for the military staff and hospitals. In the winter Father had his luncheons in the dining room at the Governor’s house. The General Staff officers and officers on duty from the front were usually asked to join him at the noon meal. At these meals no military business was discussed. Discussions of such matters took place every morning in the Supreme Command office near by. Father disliked sitting at the table longer than necessary and, as soon as the meal was over, he rose from the table and his guests followed. During the summer, the luncheons were held in a large tent on a hill in the pine woods.
In the evening, when we were there, Father tried to be with us on our train. He poured the tea himself with only the family present. Father’s train stood on a sidetrack in the woods, his study was at the end and two strong Cossacks stood always on guard.
On one visit, we saw General Hanbury-Williams. He spoke to us about his children, especially his two sons who were actively engaged in the war. The General and Alexei became great friends. He and General Rickel both spoke to Mother about the boy, saying that his presence made them forget about the war and that Mother should leave him in Mogilev. My brother remained at G.H.Q. General Hanbury-Williams was often invited to dinner with Father and Alexei.
We left Mogilev. When we arrived at Tsarskoe Selo, we found one of Mother’s ladies in waiting, Princess Sonia Orbeliani, critically ill. This young friend of ours had suffered some years earlier a back injury caused by a fall from her horse. Now the spine began to trouble her seriously. In the end she was totally paralyzed. We had a special nurse for her, and she continued to stay in our house. Her room adjoined our rooms, and Mother went to see her every night to make sure that she was comfortable. Having her in our home caused a great deal of jealousy among the other ladies in waiting and our staff. Sonia, herself, was jealous of Anna Vyrubova, who in turn quarrelled with her. Poor Sonia was still young when she left the world. Several times during her illness, before the war, we took her to the Crimea and we sisters pushed her about in her wheel chair. Fortunately for her she passed away quietly before the fear of devastation settled over our family. Father returned home with Alexei just in time to attend Sonia’s funeral.
Father was home for a few days only. He wanted to have a quiet evening with just the family. Anna invited herself the very first evening. This upset Mother so much that she said exasperatedly, “I hope Anna can live one day without seeing me!”
We sisters and brother left Mother’s room early, hoping that Anna would do the same, but Mother told us the next morning that Anna had continued to stay until very late. Father told Olga that after the Christmas holidays, he would keep Alexei at G.H.Q. most of the time in order to avoid having Rasputin called in the event Alexei should become ill.
While home Father told us of a report that in one of the military hospitals a wounded soldier who had been decorated for his bravery with the St. George Cross--one of the highest decorations in the Russian army--had asked for and received photographs autographed by each member of the Imperial family. After he was discharged from the hospital, in his bedside table drawer was found a German code. It was intended to use the pictures signed by us in propaganda leaflets which were to be dropped in the Russian trenches. This soldier was identified and he confessed. There were important names involved in the plot. He was executed, and his Latvian mother was placed under surveillance.
Meantime Father investigated everything in the palace. To his great dismay and disappointment, he found disloyalty. German machine guns were found hidden near Peterhof, and in the outskirts of our farms at Dudendorff near the Swiss chalet. No one knew how these were smuggled in. Our own family was now being exposed to danger. The propaganda having failed at the front, it started to penetrate into homes, schools, hospitals and elsewhere. One day a folder was found on our library table. The headline said, “Germans are killing the Russian peasants, confiscating their cattle and taking everything for themselves.” The article went on to say that Mother was a spy and was collaborating with German agents. How this folder came to be placed on the table remained a mystery. Mother’s real sorrow was that now Russia had begun to believe these unfounded lies. At this time, King George of England wanted Mother to come to Sandringham for a rest, but she refused to hear of it. “I shall rest when the war is over,” she said.
Father also discovered that many peacetime guards had been removed from duty at the palace and sent to the front without his knowledge, leaving the palace guard insufficiently manned. Father ordered additional guards to be sent from the mixed regiments but his orders were disobeyed. Instead, revolutionists were assigned to guard the palace.
The last time we saw Granny was in Kiev some weeks before Christmas of 1916.
Our last trip to inspect hospitals was shortly before Christmas. Accompanying us was Anna Vyrubova. More and more we discovered how much, under a superficial politeness, Anna was hated. She was aware that her friendship with Mother caused Mother a great deal of suffering. It was at this time that we went to the old city of Novgorod. At the station we were met by the Governor with bread and salt and his family presented us with flowers; greetings came from a squadron of Mother’s own Uhlan Guards. Both sides of the streets were lined with military men, school children, and civilians. With cheers and “ura” they threw their caps into the air, waved their handkerchiefs, and pelted our limousines with flowers. At last we reached the cathedral where special carpets were stretched and the church was packed with well-wishers. Princes Igor Constantinovich and Andrei Alexandrovich came from nearby. At luncheon Igor remarked, “The people most assuredly displayed great joy and devotion to you.”
In the afternoon we went to the hospital and Mother was touched by the kind reception. It gave her courage and strength. To everybody’s surprise she was able to walk to the second floor to see the sick men. Here, too, we were given money to aid the wounded. At twilight, with music, our automobiles were escorted to the station. We reached home late that night. This trip gave Mother a lift and confidence and for days she carried a smile of contentment, thanks to the people of Novgorod.
The Christmas of 1916 stands out brilliantly in contrast to the Christmas that followed. None of the secret joy was missing. Before the war, when still quite young, we children used to be sent on a long drive as the Christmas Eve dusk gathered. Oh, the thrill of watching the daylight merge into night’s cocoon, knowing the excitement that would come with darkness! At last the drive was over and we stood on the very threshold of the mysterious room where Christmas Eve was to be celebrated. From somewhere nearby Christmas carols were wafted up to us. As the door opened, there stood the glittering tree, each year more beautiful than any before. The room was filled with people: family, friends, and the palace staff. From the highest to the most humble servant, everyone gathered around the tree. Each was remembered with a gift, no one was forgotten. For weeks my sisters, with the help of ladies of the court, had wrapped the presents, each looking like a gleaming jewel. The day before Christmas, most Russians take no food, only water, until the first star appears in the heavens. This year, in the early morning, we went to a service at the Feodorovsky Sobor, and at dawn the Christmas trees were lighted for us, the officers and the guard. We sisters had helped to decorate the trees.
The fast was followed by the Christmas Eve dinner of twelve courses, representing the Twelve Apostles. No meat was served, but there were many kinds of fish, each course having a symbolic meaning. There were hors d’oeuvre, soup, mushrooms, fruit and nuts, etc.
We decided to keep our own tree, set up on the second floor, until late after the New Year. The flames of war and intrigue hissed and sizzled but could not outshine the glow of Christmas. First of all there were plans for the hospitals and orphanages, great effort being put into the personal cheer of each invalid and needy person. There were sparkling trees decorated by Mother’s own hands, with white and silver ornaments. With the hospitals full of wounded men and the tense condition at the front, every one made a special effort to effect a semblance of gaiety. On Christmas day, in the early afternoon, the tree was lighted for the Guard, the regimental orchestra played, and the Cossacks danced and sang. Everyone stood around the tree and Olga, acting for Mother, presented the gifts. Our gifts were usually simple and useful.
Although that Christmas had the familiar setting, it did not have the customary joyous spirit. First of all, Father’s duties claimed his time with heavy responsibilities. I remember that the day before his departure for Mogilev, he was discouraged and upset. He had a long talk with Olga in his study before he left. Asking her to persuade Mother in some way that she should not write him daily long letters, he relied on the help of our oldest sister. For these letters, telling Father what should be done, were resented by him. He was especially annoyed when Anna sent along her own naive suggestions; these he called stupid. “Everyone is issuing orders and I have to listen to them,” he said. He also asked Mother not to talk with her friends regarding matters they knew nothing about. That, he pointed out, was the Ministers’ business and no one else’s. Father himself had asked Mother not to do this. He was tired and worried about the things she mentioned, long before she was aware of the fact that Father’s replies to her were short and concise. Mother felt surprise that he made no comment on what she had written. Then she decided to go and see Father in Mogilev.
Mother was a great thinker and a reader of scientific books, natural science, religion and astronomy. She could solve the hardest mathematical problems. She spent many hours in her small library next to her sitting room, reading her rare books on Indian philosophy, given her by the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicholaevna, the divorced wife of the Duke of Leuchtenberg and later the wife of the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich, who himself was also a scholar of Persian and Indian history. Mother never wasted one minute. Everyday she spent many hours with her secretary on reports. Her mail was enormous. She wrote beautifully and her letters were sad and touching. She cared little for wealth. She left behind in Tsarskoe Selo and Petrograd, Livadia, and Alexandria items of immense value--her platinum, rock crystal desk set, and a gold one; her dressing table accessories; her collection of crosses and boxes; the dozen genuine blue sapphire, gold-rimmed glasses (the work of Bolin) given her one at a time over a period of years by Father; valuable laces; and over 300 Easter eggs. She took with her only a few keepsakes; many of the most valuable items were left in Tsarskoe Selo in the care of Count Benckendorff.
At the end of the holiday week there came a great change. On December 30th, 1916, Olga came to us excitedly and whispered: “Rasputin is missing!” His daughter had just telephoned Anna that he had not been home all night. This had alarmed Anna who had seen Rasputin just the previous evening, in Petrograd--for a few minutes only, in order to avoid further talk. Anna remembered that Rasputin had told her then that Prince Felix Youssoupoff was to call for him late in the evening to take him to his home to meet his wife, Irina. Mother was sure that our pretty cousin, Princess Irina, was in the Crimea and ill at that time. Irina was the daughter of Father’s sister, Xenia, and the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the grandson of the Emperor Nicholas I, and Father’s favorite cousin and his brother-in-law.
Olga and Tatiana left to attend to their work in the hospital as usual, while Marie and I reluctantly went to the schoolroom. After classes we joined the family and found, to our horror, that suspicion of Rasputin’s disappearance pointed not only to Prince Youssoupoff but to our own cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich. After a thorough investigation by the police, it was established that Rasputin had been murdered, his body wrapped in a military blanket and thrown into the Neva river in Petrograd.
The frozen corpse was found two days later, under the ice. It was assumed that the body had been carried in a Red Cross car, then thrown into the river from the bridge. Inasmuch as a Red Cross conveyance had been involved, it came as a sickening shock to learn that the murder was linked to these two young men with the knowledge of the Commander of the Red Cross, Purishkevich, who was a member of the Duma. Several previous unsuccessful attempts on Rasputin’s life had been made. Once he was stabbed by a young woman in Siberia and another time deliberately run over by a carriage. Each time he had escaped serious injury.
It was especially shocking to find Dimitri Pavlovich involved for, ever since he had been a young man, he had had a room in our home in Tsarskoe Selo and in the Crimea. His sister, Marie, had also spent many happy days with us. Aunt Ella had brought him up as her own son after his widowed father married a second time and left Russia for a while. Dimitri was considered a member of our family and we all were extremely fond of him. It was almost impossible for us to believe that he could be implicated in the murder of this much despised man. Later we heard that his role in the affair was very minor.
Suddenly the news came that General Hanbury-Williams’ son had gone down with Lord Kitchener on the torpedoed “Hampshire” in the North Sea. It was such a blow to our family that we all cried on hearing the tragic news. Mother sent some orchids to the General with our profound sympathy. Later, Alexei told us that, when the General appeared that evening for dinner, and when they greeted each other, the General threw his arms around Alexei in tears. Alexei said: “My heart went out to him.” After dinner, they kissed each other, the General calling Alexei the most loving child as he departed for his quarters. The next day General Hanbury-Williams once more joined Father and Alexei at dinner.
In the meantime, Father had received a telegram announcing that Rasputin had been killed. Father and Alexei left for Tsarskoe Selo, and Alexei never saw the General again. Painfully Alexei described to us the last evening he had with the General. Alexei, sympathetic and sensitive, suffered with him and felt he, himself, should return to G.H.Q. as the unfortunate General needed someone to comfort him. The General later sustained another sad blow, upon learning that his second son had been wounded. We all felt his tragedies as though they were our personal loss.
Father posed for a moment only for a family picture beside the tree. Then he read the report of the Rasputin murder. His reaction was: “To think that a member of the Imperial family could commit such a crime as to kill the Starets. I am ashamed to face the peasants who are fighting valiantly for Russia, and many of whom have died. And yet these boys find time for murder, as though there is not enough crime in the world.”
Those who committed the murder should have been at the front. How unjust to kill a man without a trial and without an opportunity to defend himself. It may be these young men imagined themselves to be patriots in killing one who had repeatedly prophesied future reverses for the Empire. If this despised man was undermining the foundation of Russia by promoting a dishonorable peace with the enemy, then he deserved even a greater punishment. But there was no proof. Father did not come home because Rasputin was killed but because our two relatives were involved in the crime, and the punishment had to come from him only.
Because of Rasputin’s death, a great rejoicing had swept over Petrograd. There were telegrams of congratulation for the illustrious deed, toasts with the touching of glasses filled with champagne. No one could foresee that these toasts, with glasses “bottoms up”, were for their own funeral.
Father struggled with the problem of how to punish the young men. He ordered Felix to be exiled to one of his estates in the province of Kursk. It was during my escape in 1918, when I set foot there, that the whole picture seemed to come into focus before me: Mother, Dimitri, Felix. It must have been a great shock to the quiet, beautiful, young wife, Irina, who was deeply in love with her husband, Felix. Most of the people thought of this Oxford graduate as a fascinating handsome man, having a great deal of humor, one who could never do such a terrible thing. But he believed that this was the solution to save Russia. Dimitri was sent to the General Staff on the Persian border, where the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was. Luckily Dimitri escaped the fate of his father, his half-brother, his cousins, and other relatives who were killed in 1918-1919. Immediately, his relatives tried to intercede, as had been done at the time of the coronation disaster, which it was claimed, was the result of the negligence of the Grand Duke Serge Alexandrovich.
It was a blow to Father himself, since we all were so fond of Dimitri. Besides he was Father’s ward and like a brother to us. On account of Dimitri’s poor health, after having spent several months at the front early in the war, he was sent back to Petrograd and, since then, he had spent his time there without occupation and so had become involved in this crime. His own father, the Grand Duke Paul, expressed dissatisfaction. Even though the punishment was light, still the relatives resented it and expressed coolness towards us. The Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, Father’s brother-in-law, came to see Father but to no avail. Father said forcefully: “No matter whether it was a Grand Duke or a peasant, the law is the same for all.”
Almost the whole Romanov family, led by the Grand Duke Cyril, his mother, Marie Pavlovna, and his brothers, Andrew and Boris, signed a petition in which they asked for the release of the two young heroes. My father was so angered by this, he said: “They would never have dared ask such a favor from my austere father, Alexander III” and “No one has the right to commit a murder, especially in time of war and within my realm.”
The Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna (née Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin) being successful in turning almost all the relatives, as well as many influential friends, against my family hoped by this division of the family to bring the crown to her son. She invited to her parties some mutual friends and continued her slander against my family. Among these courted guests was Rodzianko, President of the Duma. Some of these could no longer tolerate her scheming and, to her amazement, they asked to be excused and left in the midst of the conversation. The most damaging effect, due to this division of the Imperial family, was the plot organized by the Grand Duke Cyril to kill Mother and Father. The planning had taken place at the Imperial Yacht Club in Petrograd, of which my Father and all the relatives were members. Many friends also belonged to it.
They were given a warning to discontinue making trouble while other men were dying in the trenches. Father gave orders to separate them, and they were to go to their various estates. This blow was more than they could bear. No matter what the cost, they were determined to uproot this man who was a thorn in their side.
After the sad parting of the two sisters in Tsarskoe Selo, Aunt Ella’s bitterness toward my Mother increased. I was told that she knew then that there was to be an attempt on the life of Rasputin, yet she did not discourage Dimitri from taking part in it; instead, she spent her time in a convent where she met one of her friends, and prayed on her knees in this convent while the murder in Petrograd was being committed. I wonder now whether she was praying for her own soul. To my sorrow her life also ended very painfully in 1918.
XII REVOLUTION
Mother once thought that, if Alexei could not be spared, Dimitri might marry one of her daughters in order to carry on the Romanov line. Now she had to take Rasputin’s death philosophically. At the same time, she grieved over the mistake of the young men, especially the one whom she had loved as her own son. Unfortunately, the Emperor Paul (1796-1801) had decreed that no female be allowed to succeed to the Russian throne. I think that, in case of political turmoil, the decree could have been set aside. Olga would have made a wonderful Empress. She was intelligent, well-read, had a kind disposition, was popular among her friends, and understood human nature. She was a true Russian in heart and soul. She could not have been easily deceived. I am sure that she would have ruled wisely in the interest of her people. Father had inherited from his father, Alexander III, the autocratic form of government which contributed in part to the downfall of Russia.
Father stayed on but we hardly saw him, except at mealtime. He left the table hurriedly and buried himself in state papers and military problems. It was a great comfort, nevertheless, to have him with us.
The Germans reasoned that Rasputin’s death would remove one of the most fruitful subjects of their propaganda. Consequently they hastened to push forward another subject. German agents dropped leaflets into the Russian trenches stating that the Tsar was about to sign a separate peace treaty with Germany. It was also said that Mother, while she visited Father in Mogilev, had entertained Generals Ludendorff and Hindenburg at night and received letters from her brother, Uncle Ernest. Another rumor had it that the Russian officers of the General Staff and the Grand Dukes were gambling and wasting their time in cabarets while Russian soldiers were dying in the trenches.
The patriotic army was not taken in by this propaganda, because they had seen Father’s devotion to the cause of Russia. But General Ludendorff and the Kaiser intensified this propaganda because they knew it was impossible to defeat the brave Russian army without the connivance of a revolution behind the lines. The idea was to divide, conquer, poison the mind of the Russian people and weaken loyalty to the Emperor. Mutiny was feared at the front since Father was away in Tsarskoe Selo, not because our troops were inadequately fed, clothed and supplied with arms. On the contrary the troops, Father said, were never so strong and well-fed, and our military strength was now greater than at the beginning of the war. But the supplies were deliberately delayed by the merchants who received bribes from German agents while Father was away. So the goods were withheld from the markets by the merchants. Ten million rubles were spent to overthrow Russia by revolution. It was this money that originally had been intended to be used to improve the conditions of the Russian prisoners of war in Germany. Father’s presence was needed at General Headquarters. In spite of Alexei’s symptoms of measles and the fever that raged in him, Father left for G.H.Q., promising to return soon. For Mother, always apprehensive of Alexei, had begged Father to stay home a few days until the boy’s condition could be better determined. But Father’s plans had been made some months ahead for a surprise attack on the enemy and could not be changed.
Father had hardly departed before riots and strikes became a common occurrence in Petrograd. Shortages were reported; there was plenty of bread, even though it was not available in the stores. However, many merchants--some were foreigners and some were not--hid the products or raised the prices so high that the poor could not purchase any meat, butter, or other essential commodities. Train loads of grain stood on the tracks until the grain became mouldy and unfit for human consumption.
One morning Mother entered her room to find Father’s picture lying on the floor. The glass covering this picture, taken recently at the trenches, was broken at the position of Father’s neck in the photograph. Immediately Mother’s superstitious nature reappeared. There was, she felt, something wrong with Father. This breakage could have been the work of a hostile servant but, more likely, the wind had done it. To Mother it was a bad omen. Again her anxious mind went back to the large cross she saw in the sky as they crossed the Troitsky bridge a few years before. Did these signs indicate that Father was to bear a heavy cross in the future?
Then she had a dream which increased her anxiety. In it she saw the Grand Duke Serge, who had been blamed for the coronation disaster and had been dead for years, come to visit us; suddenly he began to dance and wave a chiffon veil. Father sat and watched him. All at once the Grand Duke came to the end of his little dance, and the veil he was waving caught on the stone on top of the crown on Father’s head. A quick move of the Grand Duke and the crown was off Father’s head and dashed to the floor. Seven of the large stones seemed to disappear, only one being left. Soon that, too, began to evaporate slowly until it became a tiny pebble and finally vanished. The dream haunted her. Did it mean that the crown would be lost? The little stone that vanished--did that indicate that Alexei might be taken away from us?
Another bad omen! The chain which held the cross and the ruby ring (actually it was a red diamond) which Father had given to Mother and which she lately had been wearing around her neck, had broken. These she had always considered her good luck charms. She often placed her ruby ring on the chain with the cross and now, when the chain broke, the ring rolled one way and the cross another. Did this have a meaning in relation to Father’s safety or did it indicate a rift between Father and the Church? Later this same ring was taken from Mother by Voykov several weeks before the tragic night at Ekaterinburg; he wore this red diamond on his little finger. Mother and I, myself, were great believers in dreams; I still believe in mysticism.
Mother had not heard of Father’s safe arrival at G.H.Q. Finally we received the news that he had reached his destination. Serious disorders in the streets of Petrograd began two days later and lasted for about ten days. While the air was thick with suspicion, strikes, riots, and accusations, we children were seized with measles. Alexei had been ill before Father left; next Olga was stricken; then Tatiana; and, at last, I caught the disease. Marie helped Mother to care for us, but not for long because she, too, fell ill. Then both she and I contracted pneumonia and had to be placed in oxygen tents.
Early in March, we heard through General von Grooten, assistant to General Voyeykov, Commandant of the Palaces, and at that time with Father at G.H.Q., of the conversation he had had with the military commandant in Petrograd, General Belyayev. He had, himself, been able, through General Voyeykov, to speak to Father and tell him of the true state of affairs. Rodzianko had wired His Majesty that everything was quiet. The General had acted on his own initiative because he could see the critical conditions in Petrograd and in Tsarskoe Selo. Father was relieved to hear that we were alive. Through General Belyayev, Father sent word that we should do nothing until he returned home. But we must be ready to go away at a moment’s notice. He had also been informed that we all were ill, but he hoped that, when he arrived home, we would be well enough to leave. He did not know that Marie and I and several others at the palace had pneumonia.
At this time Rodzianko called the palace to say that Father was well but we were in great danger and should go at once to Gatchina Palace, about thirty miles southwest of Petrograd. Uncle Michael also had his residence there, and many other relatives of the Imperial family maintained villas in the park. Had we gone there, we would have had more freedom. Two parallel wings, connected by a third, were almost completely enclosed. Each wing had more than several hundred rooms, and the grounds held a fair-sized lake in the middle. The estate included thousands of acres of gardens, forest and ravines. We might more easily have escaped from there abroad.
There were rumors that Uncle Ernest was hiding in a tunnel. People probably confused a tunnel at Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo with a natural passage at Gatchina. This natural passage could be entered from the stairway of the palace into a dark narrow hall, the exit of which led to the bank of Silver Lake adjoining the Baltic Sea. This spooky tunnel was cold, damp, and had a mournful echo. All these gruesome things came to my mind. I could see the statue of Paul I in front of the palace. His clothes, which were brought into his room after his assassination, remained there undisturbed as on the day he left the palace. There was a belief that Paul’s ghost walked at night about the vast rooms, corridors, and terraces. Others even claimed that they had heard him calling in the tunnel, and some servants were afraid to leave their rooms when the clock struck twelve midnight. This palace was my Grandfather’s favorite residence.
In Tsarskoe Selo there was a tunnel or passage through one of the park entrances. This entrance, with a stone structure over the gate, was carefully watched, and was used by the workers--delivery men, repair men, cooks, maids, gardeners and others. No one could enter this passage without showing his or her pass and the picture on the pass had to correspond with the one in the book which was at the disposal of the guard. When these workers reached the inner end of the tunnel, they were in the English basement of the palace where there were a number of rooms set aside for their use. These included a lounge, dining rooms, etc. In another section of the basement were rooms for the officers, including a dining room which was below Mother’s bedroom. Five or six hundred workers used this tunnel daily. It was one of the busiest and most widely used entrances. Practically all these people using this gate had been known to the guards, inasmuch as they had used this entrance for many years.
We heard that the soldiers were breaking into stores, getting drunk, and even becoming intoxicated on wood alcohol. As a result, some were poisoned and died. These deaths were blamed on the palace guard.
Mother was on duty with us children all night for several nights. Although she made frequent changes, she appeared constantly in her nurse’s uniforms. She rested on the sofa in order to be near us. The trials my Mother endured during these turbulent days are beyond description. One of the first things Mother did as a prisoner was to go through her personal letters. She burned some of the intimate ones she had received from Father during their courtship. Other letters which she destroyed were those from her Granny, Queen Victoria. When Mother was a young bride, expecting her first child, her Granny gave her useful advice. All letters written by the Imperial family were almost always numbered and dated so that it was easy to know whether any were missing. When the palace was searched by the commissars appointed by the Provisional Government, they noticed the paper ashes in the fireplace. They accused Mother of having burned important evidence. She could not change their suspicion that she had burned more than personal letters of sentiment. When she was through burning them, she said; “All is dead--but not my memories. No one can take them from me.” Then she buried her face in her hands, resting her arms on the mantel of the fireplace where she had burned her Granny’s own handwritten, cherished letters. She wept bitterly over the flame that carried Queen Victoria’s precious words into smoke.
The authorities now read all the remaining letters of my Father and my Mother. When they were unable to find anything detrimental with which they could accuse them, they fabricated all kinds of lies in order to deceive the general public. They even forged Mother’s handwriting and signature and published all sorts of atrocious lies against my parents. Several of those “letters” we saw later in Ekaterinburg; the handwriting was very much like Mother’s. Mother was accused of pro-German sympathies and actually of being a spy. What would it have mattered to the traitors if Mother had been a spy? But she was not. It was purposely done with a view to putting the blame on someone who would have produced the most damaging results to the country. It was all a part of the traitors’ pattern of intrigue to wreck the country and to weaken the Russian government, if necessary by revolution.
All these accusations were a betrayal and deceit. They sprang from the rumor that Mother, with the help of her brother, was seeking a separate peace with Germany. Mother was falsely accused, had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was caused by the actions of Princess Maria Vasilchikova, of whom I have written before, who also knew Uncle Ernest. She came from a Russian family who were also friends of Aunt Ella. She had known Mother for some ten years. She was a friend of the Imperial families of Austria and Germany, and, just before the outbreak of war in 1914, she was in Austria. Sometime in 1916, she had been persuaded by the Austrian and German Governments to write letters to Mother in which she stressed that both Governments had always been friendly with Russia, that they wished to renew this friendship, but that they did not put much faith in the alliance with England. Three or four such letters came to my family. These letters were known to all the High Command, the secret police and to the Minister of War. Father did not answer them. Both Governments, he said, should have known better. Instead, they waged war rather than take Serbia to the tribunal at the Hague.
Father was angered when he heard that Maria had been to see the Russian prisoners of war in Germany, expecting that they would put pressure on Father to agree to a truce. He had received information that these prisoners were well cared for, but the subsequent report from the Red Cross proved that was not true. In one of her letters Maria stated that, if the treaty were not considered, all Russia would be endangered. Evidently Maria well knew the aim of the enemy: fostering revolution. She also went to see Uncle Ernest, and subsequently a letter came from her and Uncle Ernest, addressed to Mother, sent by way of Sweden.
Mother was very angry and terribly upset about Maria and Uncle Ernest, particularly that he would even think that Father might conclude such a treaty. She said that she never wanted to see her brother again. She answered this letter herself and emphasized that no separate peace treaty would be signed with Germany. Because Mother sent this letter without Father’s consent, he was greatly upset.
Then a letter from Wilhelm II came to Count Benckendorff asking him to encourage Father to sign a separate treaty. Father said, let him write such letters to all my Allies, but a separate German treaty with Russia only, will never take place.
Still later a letter came from Petrograd from that same Maria, enclosing a note from Uncle Ernest. She begged for an audience with my Mother, who refused to grant her request but, instead, referred Maria’s letter to the proper authorities. Her appearance in Petrograd stirred up considerable trouble because it made people believe that she had been to see Mother. Then she wrote to Aunt Ella and, when Aunt Ella did not answer, she went to see Minister Sazonov. He, too, angrily said: “There will be no separate peace with Germany.” All the letters were turned over to the secret police who were especially furious at her saying that her estate in Austria would be confiscated. At this, Mother remarked: “Why should Russia be held responsible because Maria’s estate will be confiscated?” Father ordered that Maria be sent to her sister’s estate. Father was very angry, saying “Wilhelm must be mad.” How could anyone forget the actions of the German and Austrian Emperors which brought on the war and resulted in the loss of thousands of Russian lives, widespread suffering and enormous destruction of property, especially in the Ukraine.
How absurd for anyone to think that Mother would spy for Germany. For she had waited so long for a son to fulfill the need of the country when Father’s time was to come. How could she betray anyone she loved dearly, her husband, her son, or her adopted Mother Country! Anyone believing such illogical and unintelligent propaganda was not a healthy thinker.
One day the commissars, in searching the palace again, discovered a secret panel cupboard. No one knew how they discovered the secret door as it was so well concealed in the wall. This secret closet contained a number of Mother’s treasures of various kinds. There was a keepsake of no value, an accordion-pleated fan which had upon it pictures of Mother and Father when they were young. It had been presented to them on one of their visits to France. From one angle, when you looked at it, there appeared a picture of Mother; from another angle, it showed a picture of Father. At this time, some others of Mother’s keepsakes were removed. One, especially beautiful, was a fan with a tortoise shell handle, jewelled with emeralds; the pleated lace was studded with tiny, double eagle, gold sequins. There were many other items of great value.
As we lay in our darkened rooms trying to recuperate, we kept asking why Father did not come. Five invalids at once! When Madame Lili Dehn, the wife of Charles Dehn, the captain on our yacht and a friend since our childhood, received the news of our illness, she left her little boy with a nurse and rushed to help us, but the day of her arrival she became a prisoner in the palace with the others. She brought us the news that shops had been plundered, and that serious clashes had arisen between rebels and police. Dr. Derevenko brought news that the Liteiny Arsenal in Petrograd was in the hands of the rebels, that explosions in factories were taking place and that soldiers had been deserting their posts in panic.
Princess Obolensky, Olga Butsova and Princess Dundakova, once ladies in waiting, and the brother of Captain Charles Dehn likewise offered their assistance, but were denied entry to the palace. Mother had so wished that they could be with us, because they had always been faithful to us. Countess Anastasia (Nastinka) Hendrikova, a lady in waiting, heard of our illness and she left the Caucasus and came to Tsarskoe Selo to offer her assistance.
To Mother’s distress she found that many of her servants had contracted the flu as the epidemic swept the palace and some had run away in fear, including Derevenko, the sailor, Alexei’s servant. He told the other employees that he might prefer to serve the new regime; he was finally arrested by order of the Provisional Government, which had found stolen property on him.
We could hear the clashing of the mutineers, the screams and the shouts and some shooting near the palace gate. Mother was shocked to find there were so few soldiers on duty. She hurried to the phone to speak with the officer at the main gate, but there was no answer. She phoned the other entrance and the officer on duty informed her that many guards had deserted their posts, only a few being left to guard the palace.
A cannon was brought into the courtyard in readiness, but Mother begged the guards not to fire even one single bullet into the crowds. No matter what the consequences, she wished no blood shed on account of her family.
Mother heard noises in the officers’ room below her bedroom. She went down personally with Marie. She requested one of the officers to accompany her to the section where the guards came in to warm themselves. Mother ordered that hot tea should be served to them as often as they came in, because the temperature had dropped to 18° below zero.
Dr. Botkin was announced and when he entered our rooms he looked pale and distressed. He told Mother of a rumor that Father had been shot. But Mother refused to believe this. With the world collapsing around her, she crept back to her children. This good man, who was Mother’s personal physician, offered to care for the five invalids. Because of the emergency he even helped to change our garments, although there was a rule that no man could render such assistance.
Some time after the New Year, the Grand Duke Paul, in spite of his failing health, took command of the regiments in Tsarskoe Selo. This was most encouraging to us. All became quiet for a short period. The Grand Duke came to the palace and talked with Mother at some length. Marie heard raised voices in the next room. The conversation was mostly about Anna Vyrubova. The public objected to her staying in the palace. At this time her parents, the Taneevs, came from Terijoki on the Gulf of Finland to be with their daughter during her illness, as she demanded so much attention. Everyone thought that Anna with her measles required more care than all five of us put together. So her parents continued to stay with us until Anna had recovered. This increased the public’s resentment.
We had known for a long time that an attempt had been made on Anna’s life, in her own home, so, in order to prevent another crime, she had been asked to stay with us. Mother became resentful toward the Grand Duke Paul, who warned her that the palace would be stormed and that Anna would be carried away dead. Mother indignantly said that it was no one’s business whom she had in her home and that she had the right to keep anybody she wished in the palace. Mother and the Grand Duke parted in hot anger. It went on and on, so that this talk left Mother in an agitated mood.
Anna was told by the others of the unpleasantness Mother had on her account with the Grand Duke Paul. Mother had suffered many such experiences before, just because of her strong will; she always defended this friend from jealous creatures. Several servants, because they so despised Anna, later reported to the Provisional Government everything that took place in the palace; they even told about the letters that Anna suggested be burned. They were dismissed and, before their departure, they asked to speak with Count Benckendorff. But this was denied them. However, no one could convince Mother that Anna’s presence in our home caused a great deal of trouble and, at the same time, endangered our lives. Even after she had recovered from her illness, Anna continued to stay with us.
When we were little girls, Mother resented Anna’s intrusions, but when Anna confided in Mother that her parents were harsh to her, Mother felt sorry and took the girl under her wing. Mother told Madame Zizi Narishkina that she remembered how unpleasant her own life had been when her own brother, Ernest, was first married. At the time, she could not even speak to her brother and, in order to avoid conflict, with her new sister-in-law, she spent her days in her rooms. Subsequently, Granny took her to England.
Anna continued to come to the house on the pretense that her husband was away. At the same time she was telling her husband that she was being called for duty at the palace. When Mother found out that Anna misrepresented the facts, she became so upset that it caused her first heart attack. At the same time, Mother’s personal physician resigned his post because he felt that the heart attacks would continue as long as Anna was present. Mother never told us children about this, but we learned about it from Madame Narishkina. However, to my Mother, no one could say one word against Anna and many felt that she had some undue influence over the Empress.
We sisters became aware of the general feeling of the greater danger we were facing. So we displayed coolness toward Anna. That again displeased Mother, and she insisted that we be friendlier to Anna. She reprimanded us in spite of our weakened condition. She became angry with Olga and Marie, and said, “I will not allow anyone to criticize my friend.” Olga however said; “Anna, with her petty talks has made herself indispensable to you.” This, though true, so agitated Mother that we were sorry Olga ever brought the matter up. Even Dr. Botkin felt that, for the sake of the children, Anna should be sent back to Terijoki in Finland.
Now all who entered the palace were searched, the women by a woman, and the men by a guard.
XIII ABDICATION
At Mogilev, Captain Nilov, Major General Prince Vasily Dolgorukov and others with whom Father discussed the matter agreed that he should leave immediately for the capital. He was then ready to grant the Constitution. Mother also wired him to this effect. Soon afterwards a telegram was received informing Father that the revolution in Petrograd had been crushed. The news displeased General Ruzsky, who at that time was the Commanding General of the Northern Front. He and others were afraid that people would accuse the Duma and himself of treason, so they made one last attempt to damage the standing of my Father. At the same time they knew that our troops were strong, were well provided for, and eager for the spring offensive, for the last surprise attack, which was to bring a complete victory to our armies within three months.
Ruzsky disliked General Alexeiev and his son, and openly displayed hatred for them both. He did everything to separate Father and General Alexeiev, whom Father had known for some time and found most capable. General Ruzsky also had an animosity toward Count Fredericks because he knew that the old Count was suspicious of him. General Ruzsky wanted Father to relieve the Baltic Baron from his post as Court Minister, saying that the people resented anyone with a German name in a high position. When Father took the Supreme Command of the Armies in the Field, the Count had warned him that Ruzsky was a dangerous man and would inevitably weaken Father’s position among the people. Granny too tried to discourage Father and felt that Alicky (Mother) was responsible for this appointment. But Father was determined to correct the inefficiency and raise the morale of his army.
It had been reported the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was inclined to favor one officer over another with resulting injustices. General Krymov told Prince Dolgorukov at the time Father took the Supreme Command that there was great rejoicing among the officers and soldiers. They knew that from now on there would be no favoritism shown in the army. The effect of this new spirit was shown in the victories that followed when thousands of German and Austrian soldiers were captured, together with vast quantities of ammunition. Every night thousands of the enemy soldiers escaped across the border and sought sanctuary in Russia. The German High Command indeed had a good reason for ordering Princess Vasilchikova to write numerous letters suggesting a separate peace treaty.
Going back to General Ruzsky, the officers became suspicious of the old General. Knowing that Father disliked gossip and accusations, they were so secretly enraged with Ruzsky that they were ready to kill him. Later, Prince Dolgorukov told us that Captain Nilov, at the time of Father’s abdication, became so furious at Ruzsky’s attitude that he angrily struck the table with his fist and declared; “His Majesty must not abdicate! He has the Army and the peasants with him. Ruzsky will destroy the Empire and the Emperor, but I will have the pleasure of killing him with my own hand.” However, the rapid progress of the revolution deprived him of this privilege, and the General’s life was spared by a narrow margin. Whoever would suspect that this near-sighted man with thick glasses, this short, insignificant, old man with a wrinkled face whose gray hair stood up like the bristle of a stiff brush was capable of spying? Even his epaulets, his sloping shoulders, were not commensurate with the military bearing one expected of a general. He was well aware of the rapidly changing conditions in Petrograd. This was the man of whom Father said; “I can never forgive Ruzsky because, as a Russian general, he committed the most terrible crime against his country.” During one of our visits to Mogilev, General Ruzsky was there. He acted strangely toward Mother, trying to avoid her eyes. His nervousness indicated that his conscience was bothering him.
About this time Father received a telegram from the Caucasus from the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich suggesting that Father abdicate. This was a disheartening blow to Father. He knew however it was a deliberate gesture of revenge, because Father had found it necessary to relieve the Grand Duke from his supreme command in the field. At the same time, Father had relieved Prince Orlov (Fat Orlov), who had held the position of Director of Chancery, and had sent him to the Caucasus with the Grand Duke. While Nicholai Nicholaevich was in Tiflis, he made a great impression on the people with his enormous height and his thunderous voice. His great physical strength and enthusiastic manner, as well as his skilled horsemanship, added to his personal popularity.
Meanwhile General Ewers and General Ivanov were ready to send troops to Petrograd to crush the riots. But Ruzsky wired Rodzianko, asking him to take no action. (Rodzianko was related to Prince Youssoupoff by marriage.) Still another blow Father received was that the Litovsky and Volinsky regiments, constituted of recruits, had capitulated to the revolutionists. On top of this, Father was misinformed that Mother had been killed and that the children who had been ill were in grave danger!
About this time, Father still at G.H.Q., felt that there was still time to avert the revolution if he could get support from the people of Petrograd who would recognize that the coming spring offensive would defeat Germany. He discussed this with his Chief of Staff, General Alexeiev, who had confidence in the strength and loyalty of the Army. They decided that Father should leave for the capital where he was to grant the Constitution. But Ruzsky, Shulgin, and Guchkov prevented Father’s reaching the city on time. Purposely, by direction of the Duma, the train was shunted back and forth until the revolution had taken a stronger root and the abdication, which Father had so stubbornly resisted all night long, was finally forced upon him.
Before Father left G.H.Q., he wired to General Khabalov in Petrograd that riots during the war were not tolerable, and must be crushed at once. But the General wired back that it was all too late; that his barracks were already deserted, and that the two companies of Life Guards, commanded by my paternal cousin, the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich, had marched through the city, led by the Grand Duke himself with a red band on his arm and a rosette on his chest. This act alone gave untold encouragement to the revolutionists. Cyril thought that this was the opportune moment for him, with the help of various members of the Imperial family, to seize the Crown.
At this time the Grand Duke Michael (Uncle Misha) who was being held at the Tauride Palace (the Duma), knew what Cyril was trying to do and refused to see him. Uncle Misha had been called from Gatchina to discuss the possibility of becoming Regent. The problem was complicated by the poor physical condition of the Tsarevich who, Uncle Michael felt, could not assume the heavy burden of rule in view of the condition the country was in and in view of his lack of experience.
Meanwhile Cyril Vladimirovich was seeking to establish good relations with the newly-formed government. But, even now, Rodzianko had begun to doubt the Vladimir family. All this was told to Mother by the Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich himself.
Cyril proceeded to the Duma and handed over the troops under his command to the new regime. This was a deliberate revenge against my Mother. Previous to this, Cyril and his German mother, Marie Pavlovna, the elder (née Duchess of Mecklenburg), the widow of the Grand Duke Vladimir, Father’s deceased uncle, had often spoken admiringly of Bismarck, who had once been German Ambassador to Russia. They had also praised Kaiser Wilhelm, in spite of the fact that the countries were at war. The Grand Duchess had made no secret of her sympathies. She and her son had given huge parties to which they had asked many influential friends. We heard that among them were General Ruzsky, Princess Radziwill and Sir George Buchanan, the British Ambassador. We heard also that they also entertained many revolutionists and German agents who no doubt gained much valuable information as they mingled with other guests. Father received this report after our arrest in Tsarskoe Selo. The invitations to these parties were most extravagant. The double eagle and the crown were embossed in different shades of green, yellow, and blue with real gold sheets or red and blue enamel, pressed into the finest grade of paper.
This attractive plotter, Marie Pavlovna (the elder) was a charming personality and an excellent conversationalist. She did everything in her power to tarnish the names of my Father and Mother. Her son Cyril had married the Princess Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, granddaughter of Queen Victoria and divorced wife of Mother’s only brother, the Grand Duke Ernest of Hesse, who was a grandson of Queen Victoria.
Mother had had a sad experience when Victoria became Ernest’s wife, because of Victoria’s jealous disposition. At the time Mother had had no choice but to live in the same home with the unhappy couple. Fortunately, the benevolent Granny, Queen Victoria, soon took Mother to England. Then, when there was no sister-in-law to pick at, Victoria made Uncle Ernest’s life miserable, and their marriage ended in divorce several years later. Subsequently, Victoria married Cyril, and they were banished from Russia, but had returned just before the outbreak of World War I. Cyril expressed malicious joy when four daughters in succession were born to the Imperial couple; and later, when it became known that the new heir to the throne, Alexei, was afflicted with haemophilia--which might kill him early in life--Cyril had felt that the throne was already within his grasp. This was especially true when Uncle Michael was banished from Russia, after having married a divorcée. Now Cyril’s hopes for the Crown were redoubled and his mother held, practically, a court of her own. But these relatives of ours lived long enough to see the catastrophe in which they plunged their country.
When the secret of Alexei’s haemophilia had been learned by Cyril’s mother, she suddenly, after more than thirty years of indecision, decided to adopt the Russian orthodox religion in order to strengthen her son’s potentials for eligibility for the throne. Such maneuvering was entirely in vain, inasmuch as the church would never have accepted, let alone crowned, as Tsar a man whose wife’s first husband was still alive. This same factor of marriage to a divorced woman also affected the eligibility of Uncle Michael to succession.
Now at last Mother agreed to the suggestion of men who had stood by her during the trying times: General von Grooten, Prince Putiatin, and her secretary, Count Apraxin, who came by foot from Petrograd in the winter cold solely to tell Mother that Father was to arrive the next morning; also Count Adam Zamoyski, A.D.C., and General Dobrovolsky. Their suggestion was that she visit the troops assembled in the courtyard. Mother and Marie, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Count Apraxin, greeted and thanked them for their kind services. At this time Mother could see no noticeable difference in the men’s behavior. Count Apraxin was a devoted friend of my parents and loyal to the end. He was deeply religious, encouraged culture and the arts, and had a knowledge of conditions in the country.
Before the abdication, an ukase was signed by Father dismissing the old Cabinet and appointing Prince George Lvov as Prime Minister. By it the Grand Duke Nicholai Nicholaevich was to resume his former position as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. In spite of Prince Lvov’s protest, all the old Ministers were arrested by the Provisional Cabinet, then still under his direction. The pressure came from Kerensky, Shulgin and Guchkov, the latter a bitter enemy of Mother’s. He was, it was said, influenced by traitors from abroad.
There now was an epidemic of measles, flu and pneumonia in the palace. Twice a day additional doctors were permitted to attend all who were ill, officers of the guard standing behind them during all examinations. It was embarrassing to the patients to have these strange men in their bedrooms. Count Benckendorff spoke to the commissar, asking that the guards remain in the hall. No extra nurses were permitted to help care for the sick.
We heard that Countess Fredericks had contracted pneumonia and been taken to the English Hospital, then under supervision of Lady Georgina Buchanan. But the Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, ordered that she be removed at once. He expressed himself as being averse to helping any one of the old regime, because he believed in the new social order. In the midst of bitter cold, they carried her out on the street, but a good Samaritan gave her refuge. Her crippled daughter, Emma, our friend, was taken before the Duma, where her jewels were confiscated. The rebels wanted to arrest the old Count but not finding him at home they set his house on fire, destroying not only his residence but his valuable family art collection as well. Strange to say, we knew that Sir George liked us personally and also enjoyed his life and women in Russia. He had known Mother and Uncle Ernest for a long time. He had been in our house many times enjoying meals with us, and often came to see the newsreels of the war which were shown in our palace. This middle aged Ambassador was admired by many women and through them he gained popularity in Petrograd. It was said that he accepted hospitality from the highest to the lowest women of all kinds of character and position. At the end he became hated by the jealous husbands who were at the war. Later he regretted his mistakes and praised Father’s loyalty to his Allies.
Father was disturbed when he heard that Sir George said he would not care if Germany would invade his own country, England. Especially when Sir George helped to spread untrue stories about Mother, which disturbed Princess Victoria of Battenberg, Mother’s older sister, who wrote Mother an upsetting letter. Father requested the Grand Marshal of the Court, Count Benckendorff to write King George to recall Sir George from his post. At the same time Father ordered Peter Bark to withdraw all his personal money from the banks in England; the rapid progress of the revolution made the withdrawal impossible.
In contrast, Sir George’s wife, Lady Georgina, was most energetic in the war work, and Father presented her with the Order of St. Catherine. She supervised a sewing group at the Embassy, also the Anglo-Russian hospital on the Nevsky Prospect, and was the head of the British convalescent home.
The Provisional Government sent General von Grooten, Commandant of Tsarskoe Selo, to prison. It also placed under arrest Colonel Girardi, Chief of Police, General Resin, once the Commandant of the Combined Regiments, and Prince Putiatin. Mother sent A.D.C. Captain Linevich, one of Father’s closest friends, to negotiate with Rodzianko but we never saw him again. He too was arrested. About this time we were told to have our bags ready to leave Russia at a moment’s notice. Our suitcases and our trunks were brought from the storerooms and were placed upstairs in two rooms. Mother, when free from nursing duties, selected the most important articles to be packed. But everything that went into these trunks later was checked by the new masters.
We heard that two revolutionary divisions were marching toward Tsarskoe Selo with tanks and armored cars, to storm the palace, but the harsh wintry weather prevented them from reaching the village. One night, soon afterwards, all the lights went out for about twenty minutes. The courtyard, the park, the gates, everything was dark. Then our water supply was cut off, but fortunately it was soon restored. Also the lift at the end of the hall was put out of commission and Mother had to be carried to the second floor. All these events kept us in a continual state of apprehension, and we became frightened, thinking that the rebels were trying to get into the grounds.
Later we were told that on this dark night, the rebels had attempted to remove Rasputin’s body from the grave, by order of the Provisional Government. Not knowing the exact location, they dug up the body of our old butler, who had died about the same time as Rasputin, and burned his remains in the Pergolovo forest. It was this faithful butler who carried my great-grandfather, Alexander II, into the Winter Palace the day he was killed. Since then he had continued as a family butler until, years before, illness overtook him, after which time he was cared for by the family.
The rumor which said that Mother had ordered Rasputin’s body to be buried in the park in Tsarskoe Selo was not true. She had nothing to do with his burial, although she had sent a message suggesting that his body should be shipped to his family in Siberia. It was Anna Vyrubova’s desire to have this man buried on the property she owned on the other side of the Alexander Park gate and the Alexandrovka village, near the woods on the high road to Viborg. Anna believed that he had saved her life and she paid the expenses of the funeral, which was officiated over by Father Vassiliev. The gossip continued that we had signed an icon especially to be placed in Rasputin’s coffin. It was true that shortly before his death we had signed an icon which was for the coffin of one of our tutor’s sons who had been killed. But as Father had already sent one for the tutor’s son’s coffin, the other icon that had been signed was placed in the butler’s coffin.
The first unfounded rumors about Rasputin started a long way back. There was a foreign representative who antagonized the Christians in Persia. My Father--defender of Christianity--was informed about this man’s malicious actions and used his influence to have this instigator removed from his diplomatic post in Persia. Since then this man was looking for an opportunity to strike back at the Imperial Family. With the help of a collaborator he wrote a book most insinuating in its nature and based on malicious lies. The collaborator demanded $60,000 from my Mother to prevent the publication of this slanderous book, but Mother ignored this threat, and refused to be blackmailed, for there was absolutely no truth in their accusation. During the war the contents of this book was circulated throughout Russia, thus poisoning the minds of the people against my Mother. With their first venture a success, they now started a vicious campaign against Father by picturing him as weak, irresponsible and incapable of holding the Crown, and by so doing they rendered the Bolsheviks a most useful service. Yet none of these instigators knew Father personally for they had never had an opportunity to set foot inside the village of Tsarskoe Selo.
One afternoon at home the mutineers insisted on seeing Mother and Alexei, because of a rumor that Alexei had died or escaped. Mother, accompanied by Count Benckendorff and Marie, went out on the balcony. In a voice, clear but weak, she said; “I hear you want to see me and my son, but why? My son is critically ill, and he must not expose himself to cold. To see him is impossible at this time. For myself I am only a mother who is nursing her sick children.” They left without a single word. That same unlucky evening, March 13th, Marie became ill and was taken into the sick room with a high temperature. With the help of Baroness Buxhoeveden, Madame Dehn, Dr. Botkin, and several nurses and maids, Mother managed to take care of all the invalids.
In the midst of this confusion, word reached Mother of Father’s abdication. Then later in the same afternoon the Grand Duke Paul returned, with a bulletin announcing Father’s abdication. He expressed sympathy for our plight and suggested that we leave Russia as soon as possible. Mother burst into tears saying, “Russia is lost; Russia was betrayed.” Mother could not bear to convey this news to Alexei, and asked M. Gilliard to do so. Alexei’s reaction was to say; “How can that be? Father promised Alexander III that Russia would always remain an autocracy, and Father had to swear to uphold this type of rule.” It did not occur to him that Father no longer was the Emperor and that he himself no longer was the Tsarevich. He was thinking only of the life of Russia. With all his troubles, he never thought selfishly of himself. To us sisters, Mother with quivering lips gave details of the recent happenings. Soon afterwards, boxes containing Father’s various documents, including the abdication papers and the speech he had delivered to his beloved army, arrived at the palace.
We knew that Mother had been tortured with the thought that Father had been shot; now we learned that Father too had been tormented with the rumor that she had been murdered. But soon we heard that Father was on his way to Petrograd; that when he was about to leave, Shulgin and Guchkov arrived in Mogilev. Father was surprised when he saw how Ruzsky received these men with the warmest greetings. Father knew then that they were bosom friends and that Ruzsky was a spy.
Six men were responsible for the delay which prevented Father’s train from reaching the capital. The train was delayed by the railway officials on orders from the Duma, in order to give the revolution a chance to become solidified. Kerensky worked from Petrograd; Guchkov, Kalenin, Gribushchin and Shulgin were on the train with Father; and at the other end was General Ruzsky, Commander of the Northern Front, located in Pskov. When Mother heard this, she said; “I urged Father to close the Duma long ago. Before Papa left for G.H.Q., he was discouraged with the Duma and left a signed order with the Premier, Prince Golitsyn, to dissolve it at once, but the Premier failed to carry out his orders.”
Immediately after Father’s abdication, two of his close friends came to see him. One was General Count Keller and the other was General Khan of Nakhichevan. Both were Generals of the Guard and had known Father for many years. They asked Father’s permission to send their troops to Petrograd to suppress the revolution. Father was in favor of this, but since he was no longer in power, he suggested that they make this proposal to the Provisional Government. No doubt General Ruzsky received the offer of these two generals, but purposely tabled their suggestion.
From Pskov Father’s train went back to Mogilev to enable him to take leave of his beloved Army. Here once more General Count Keller came to see Father. He kissed his hand, saying; “Your Majesty, I would rather be dead, before I would serve any other government.” Later, I heard, he shot himself or was shot.
In Mogilev, General Alexeiev, Father’s trusted friend, now made known that Father was a prisoner. Present were a number of generals and the committee of the newly formed government, and several grand dukes, including Boris Vladimirovich, Cyril’s brother, who wanted to see Father, but General Voyeykov said that the Emperor could not see him.
Soon after Father’s farewell speech to the Army, the General Staff took the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government, which then ordered that Father’s initials be removed from their epaulets, but these men refused to remove them, saying that they would kill the traitors before they would do such a thing. And Father said, “Now, it is too late.”
Prince Dolgorukov later related to us that Father’s tears were streaming down his face and that he turned away from the window of his study which was facing the parade ground. He could not see this painful performance inflicted upon his beloved Army. Before he left G.H.Q., he received the news that Granny was on her way to Mogilev. He dreaded a meeting with her, as she usually distressed him so much that he found her harder to handle than all of his ministers put together. He saw her on the train; she blessed him and they parted forever.
Later after several days aboard the train, Father finally reached Tsarskoe Selo, on March 9/22, 1917, at 11:30 A.M. Here at the pavilion (station) many of Father’s lifelong friends his trusted officers and his favorite aides-de-camp, who had come on the train with him, departed in an effort to save their own lives. It was said, though no one ever will know whether this really was true, that on the train that same morning before they reached Tsarskoe Selo they were told that if they stayed with Father they would be shot. “They deserted me in my saddest hour,” said Father. Among those of whom he spoke were Cyril Narishkin, chief of his mobile secretariat, the son of our dear Zizi Narishkina, the Mistress of the Robes; and also Count Grabbe, an A.D.C., whom we had known since our childhood. I remember when he accompanied us sisters on long walks on the shore in the Crimea and the time when I, in mischievous play, poured sand down his neck. Others who deserted Father were a Duke of Leuchtenberg and our friend A.D.C. Mordvinov whose daughter I knew and liked, and Sablin, whom we children loved like one of our own, once a lieutenant on the “Standard.” All of them had been close associates and friends. Captain Drenteln, a most beloved friend and a member of a battalion of Father’s own Preobrazhensky regiment, also disappeared.
Father came directly upstairs to Mother. He found Marie and myself desperately ill; I was only partly conscious. At first I thought that I dreamed of his being home. A few days later I realized how bad he looked. He was thin and his eyes were sad. His left shoulder shook nervously, much more than before. Only later Prince Dolgorukov told us of the unpleasant experience Father had upon his arrival at Tsarskoe Selo. Father had left the pavilion (station) and had received a shock upon seeing that his chauffeur was already dressed in civilian clothes. An even greater shock awaited him: although all the guards on duty, both at the outside gate and at the Palace entry, had been informed of the exact hour for the arrival of the Emperor, they showed their newly-acquired importance by asking the chauffeur over the phone for the identity of the occupants of the car. Both times the chauffeur replied, “It’s His Majesty.” With deliberateness, they replied, “Let Nicholai Alexandrovich pass through.” Father was very angry at this curt treatment and was surprised to see the antechamber packed with people, only a few of whom he knew. He passed by without saying a word. When Mother heard of his arrival, she ran breathlessly down the stairs and the full length of the long corridor and fell sobbing into his arms. Both of them came directly upstairs.
We were told that the same afternoon several men from the Provisional Government appeared to question Father at length.
At this time these terrible men ordered the staff wearing Father’s badges on their shoulders to have them removed, without Father’s consent, and to have Father and the family placed under arrest. Now Mordvinov wanted to come to the palace, but the Government forbade it.
Father brought home copies of his abdication and his farewell speech to the Army. We were able to learn more about the abdication which had taken place at 3:00 P.M. on March 2/15, 1917, in the study of his private train at the railroad station in Pskov. Later after talking with Dr. Fedorov, Alexei’s physician, Father abdicated also on behalf of the Tsarevich in favor of his brother Michael, although Father knew that the Holy Synod of the Russian Church would not recognize Michael as Heir to the Throne. But he did so, in order to avoid a bloody revolution. We were also told by those who had been with Father on the train, that General Ruzsky threatened Father, saying “If the Emperor will not sign it now, I would hate to say what may happen to his family.” With swimming eyes we read the touching words in which he asked his people to uphold the Provisional Government and to try to be loyal to it. Following is my Father’s farewell address.
LEAVE OF THE ARMY
I address you for the last time, soldiers so dear to my heart. Since I have renounced in my name, and that of my son, the Throne of Russia, the powers I exercised have been transmitted to the Provisional Government which has been formed on the initiative of the Imperial Duma.
May God help it lead Russia on the path of glory and prosperity.
May God bless you also, glorious soldiers, to defend our native land against a cruel enemy. For two and a half years you have in every hour undergone the fatigues and strain of a wearing campaign, much blood has been spilt, great efforts have been crowned with success, and already the hour is at hand when Russia with her splendid allies will finally crush by one joint and daring effort the last resistance of the enemy.
A war such as this, unknown in history, must be continued to the final and definite victory. Whoever dreams of peace or desires it--at this moment--is a traitor to his country and yields it to the enemy.
Carry out your duty, protect our beloved and glorious country, submit yourselves to the Provisional Government, render obedience to your chiefs, and remember that any slackness in your service means a gain to your enemies.
With the firm conviction that the boundless love that you have for our great country will ever remain in your hearts,
I pray that God may bless you, and that St. George the Great Martyr may lead you to victory.
(Signed) Nicholas (Countersigned) Alexeiev, C.G.S.
Father’s speech was a heavy blow to his men; they were stunned from the shock. One of his personal guards had a heart attack while Father was speaking. Father urged the troops to continue the war, at any price, until victory was complete. The hour was at hand, he said, when Russia would finally crush the last resistance of the enemy. But this resistance did not materialize, nor, in fact, did the Emperor’s own planned powerful attack. Some people of the upper classes in Petrograd failed to support him in regard to this final blow against the enemy, designed to win the war within three months, as Father had promised in his last speech before the Duma in Petrograd a short while before. It was not Father’s war, but the war of the nation. When Uncle Michael came to urge Father to return immediately to G.H.Q., he found Father on the verge of departure, despite the serious condition of Alexei.
The current malicious gossip was more important to the political leaders than was the destiny of their country. These same leaders afterwards criticized Father, saying that because he loved his family so much, fear of having his family killed caused him to abdicate. The killing of his family would not have solved the problem, which would have been solved easily by the leaders themselves had they not supported the traitors and not spread unfounded lies, especially about my Father, whose men were shedding their blood at the front. If I may ask, in what had we children sinned before our people that we should have to give up our lives--we children who, from the oldest to the youngest, denied ourselves all amusement and devoted our energy to the war effort? Should we children have had to pay the penalty of death? Why did not those busy conspirators take their weapons and go to fight the common enemy?
They could not say anything against my older sisters, upon whom they had never had an opportunity to lay their eyes. What they said about me, because of my innocent jokes and pranks, I have never given a rap about.
When Dr. Botkin read Father’s last addresses, his eyes moistened and he added, “Only His Imperial Majesty could speak such deep words.” Father repeated the words of Tsar Nicholas I: “Gde raz podniat Russkii flag, on uzhe spuskatsia ne dolzhen.” (Where once the Russian flag is raised, it shall never be lowered.)
Little by little we received more details. At first Father abdicated in favor of Alexei, with Uncle Michael as Regent. But after consulting Dr. Fedorov about his son’s delicate health, Father abdicated also for Alexei in favor of his brother Michael, who was called in from Gatchina to Petrograd, to accept first the Regency, and then the Throne. To Father’s intense disappointment Uncle Misha, after accepting, soon abdicated because of pressure by the Provisional Government, in whose hands the nation’s fate then rested. This new government placed under arrest many ministers and high officials, because they refused to sign the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government. What was happening in Petrograd at this time Father did not know until he reached home.
General Ruzsky and others, in order to hide their crime, spread the most heartless rumor that Father had been drinking wine before his abdication. However, Father was not alone during this painful ordeal. With him on the train was his friend, the Minister of the Household of the Court, Prince Vasily Dolgorukov; Flag Captain Nilov, A.D.C.; General Voyeykov, Chief of Administration of the Palaces in Tsarskoe Selo; Count Vladimir Fredericks, Father’s Chamberlain; and the latter’s assistant, General Mossolov. Others present on the train were A.D.C. Count Grabbe, Commandant of an Escort; A.D.C. Captain Drenteln; A.D.C. Cyril Narishkin, head of the Chancery; Colonel Mordvinov and General Dubensky. The Provisional Government was represented by Kerensky’s friend, Vershchinin, and others.
Prince Dolgorukov spoke to us of this merciless rumor, saying that Father at the time drank only tea and paced back and forth in his study. Father’s valet and his butler, after reading this lie, saw Count Benckendorff and in tears said that those who spread such a lie had committed a great sin toward their Emperor. It was also said that during the last night on the train Father sat up all night in his study. At midnight one of the engineer officers, who previously had conducted many trips during Father’s travels, asked to see Father and was received. He sank to his knees, kissed Father’s hand and tearfully said, “Your Majesty, I will never serve these bandits. It is the end of my life.” After the train reached the pavilion in Tsarskoe Selo and just as Father was getting into his automobile and as the standing officers were saluting Father for the last time, a shot was heard and the engineer officer fell dead.